


Get It, Girl

by canox



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Formula One, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Casual Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Formula 1, Hotel Sex, Leave The Helmet On, Rimming, Strip Tease, also a real casual approach to plotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canox/pseuds/canox
Summary: Ben is the defending Formula One champion. Rey is the talented rookie driver hired to replace him on his family's team. He thinks driving to another championship is going to be easy. She thinks she can make it harder for him.What happens when they clash on - and off - the racetrack? Things could get a little race-y.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 127
Kudos: 173





	1. Welcome to the big leagues

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my first fanfic. If you're too good for downforce puns and cockpit jokes, well, I'm not.
> 
> If you’re into that, plus some smut, let’s burn rubber into this tire fire together!

“Chin down. Eyes open. Less murder in them. That’s good. Fan, please!”

The assistant switches it on, and Rey tries a shimmy that comes out as a shudder, shaking her hair back so it doesn’t stick to the slick of lip gloss on her mouth. It feels like she’s in a wind tunnel, and she can barely keep her eyes open.

“Yes! You are the star! Helmet on your hip. Relax the hand. Hold the helmet like a little baby, not a man you are strangling. That’s it.”

Maz snaps a few more photos, and the assistant mutters something in her ear.

“Okay, Rey, one more shot. Let’s see a smile. Pretend you have beaten all the men. You are the F1 champion!”

Rey smiles. The air from the fan makes her teeth cold, even though sweat is pooling under her bra from the hot lights. She knows she has to do promo photo shoots as part of her contract, and sometimes it’s fun to get made up, but she’s a racing driver, not a model, and she’s beyond ready to get off the set.

“And we’re done, thank you very much, darling. We’ll send selects to your manager in a couple days,” Maz says, dismissing Rey and turning to her assistant. “Leave the fan out. We’ve got Solo next and we’ll need it. His manager complained his hair looked flat in last year’s shots.”

*

Rey changes out of her racing suit with the Skywalker logo behind a curtain in the corner of the studio and leaves her backpack by a pile of cables, then stops by the hallway coffee machine for a free cup before the drive home. 

She’s texting her manager, neck hunched over like her trainer has specifically told her not to, when a huge pair of designer sneakers stomps into view. She looks up—way up—to thick dark hair, surprisingly pretty brown eyes, lips set in a pout, a scar along one side of his face, and her eyes widen as she recognizes Ben Solo. Of course it’s him; Maz just said they were shooting him next.

Rey knows him. Well, not personally. He’s the defending champion. She’s watched him effortlessly break lap-time records on spent tires and ruthlessly crush his opponents, and she knows he’s the favorite for the driver’s championship again this season. She’s seen the videos: “Top 10 Ben Solo On-Track Tantrums,” “Best of Ben Solo - Angry Team Radio,” “Top 10 Teammate Crashes Feat. Ben Solo.” She even knows he got that scar on his face in a crash in a street car when he was a teenager. She didn’t think it would be so striking in person against his strong features.

And she’s heard the wistfulness in Leia and Luke’s voices when they talk about Ben’s decision to leave the team they manage and drive for First Order Racing instead this year. They could have won the constructors’ championship as a family, but Ben was more interested in another drivers’ title for himself.

Whatever. His move left an open seat and Rey is more than happy to fill it. Who cares if she’s stepping into family drama—there are only 10 teams, 20 drivers in F1, and she’s going to be one of them.

Ben's eyes are dark with irritation as he looks her up and down and snaps, “Where’s the dressing room? I’m here for the Formula One shoot with Maz.”

So he doesn’t recognize the rookie driver his mother and uncle just signed to replace him. He doesn’t see her as competition, even though she was the Formula Two champion and Leia and Luke’s team has a pretty good car this year. He thinks he’s just going to waltz to another title without even sweating into the silky hair framing his face.

She can take the high road, though. There’s no point in making enemies before the season even starts.

“There’s no dressing room,” she says. “Just change in the corner. It’s through there. Did you want me to come in after and do your makeup?”

Ben either doesn’t notice her sarcasm or chooses to ignore it. “Jesus, okay, you’d think this was a billion-dollar sporting organization, but every year it gets worse.” He moves to go in, then turns back.

“Could I have a coffee? Black,” he says, then adds, “Please.” He lets the studio door slam behind him. Rude.

She won’t bring the coffee. No, she’s mad now and has to punish him somehow. She’ll bring the coffee, but spit in it. No, he won’t even notice, this coffee tastes like garbage anyway. She’ll bring the coffee, but throw it in his face. No, too dramatic, and she doesn’t want to get hit like in the video with the most views, “Ben Solo Punches Teammate After Losing Race - Slow-Mo.” 

She’ll bring the coffee and barge in on him changing. That’ll throw him off a little, show him that he doesn’t have all the power here. _Now we’re talking._

She’s got the steaming cup in one hand and yanks the curtain back with the other, catching him with one foot in his black racing suit and one leg angling in, body tensed to balance. 

“What took you so long?” he asks, not looking up.

He’s wearing briefs and a tight T-shirt, which immediately reveal to Rey a critical fact all of the videos had omitted, and Luke and Leia absolutely had not mentioned: Ben is built. Like, quads flexing, abs rippling, shoulders straining at the sleeves.

She knows she stared too long because he stands up, clears his throat, and holds out his hand, stretching his fingers impatiently. It’s like the spell suddenly breaks and she returns to her senses.

Rey gives him the coffee, yanks the curtain closed, takes her backpack from the cable pile, and speedwalks out of the studio to her car. _Fuck, so awkward. Just openly drool over him, why don’t you._ She’d meant to throw him off balance, but she’s the one who feels unsettled. She didn’t establish herself as a force to be reckoned with, but as a total weirdo.

*

Ben notices her at the shoot, but he notices lots of women. Long chestnut hair, highlighted by the sun? Heavenly. Hazel eyes? Lovely. Little line between those eyes as she frowns at his demand for coffee? Intriguing. He knows he was rude, but most assistants don’t let their displeasure show when you snip at them. 

He thinks about her burning gaze and long limbs while Maz puts him through what feels like a hundred poses, a little treat for himself while he endures one of his least favorite parts of the job, and then files away the memory in case he needs it when he’s alone in a hotel room. He knows it makes him a little pervy— _yes, doctor, I like to jerk off thinking of ordinary women I’ve met instead of actresses who are paid to be the subject of fantasies_ —but gives himself a break. There are just too many nights in hotel rooms during the racing season.

*

“Was it the fastest lap? Just tell me, yes or no!” It’s only winter testing, not even a race—too early to be this frustrated with his engineer—but Ben can’t perform in races if they won’t give him actual information.

“Uh.” There’s a long pause with power tools screeching in the background. “We’re checking.”

“I said yes or no!”

“I’m sorry! The data is still coming through!”

“Who else would have beat it? The Finn had an engine problem and I know Poe isn’t that good.”

“Okay, Ben, the other Skywalker car is within point-one seconds. But you still have the fastest lap.”

Ben sighs. “Good.”

“And that’s the end of the session. Come on back.”

He gets out of the car and wanders outside the garage for a little fresh air, letting his flare of irritation fizzle out and waiting for the Finn, his teammate, to come in so they can do the team debrief.

The other Skywalker car is being driven by this _amazing_ rookie, according to his mother and his uncle Luke when they’d had too much mulled wine at New Year’s and wouldn’t shut up about it. Rey something-or-other? But Ben figured they were just trying to tease him a little about joining another team and didn’t let himself get too worried.

He glances down pit lane and sees the rookie rushing out of her own garage in a white Skywalker race suit to high-five her engineer. It’s got to be her. Poe, her teammate, wears the same white suit, but never rushes when he can saunter and doesn’t have curves.

“Less than a tenth of a second, Rose!” she yells. “I can totally find that somewhere!”

Rey pulls off her crash helmet and fireproof balaclava, shaking out long chestnut hair and revealing a smile so huge Ben’s pretty sure he can see all of her teeth even from where he is. Oh. It’s her.

He remembers how defiant her eyes were when she stared at him half-dressed at the photo shoot, lingering on his body like it was her right to look for as long as she wanted.

Now, she looks at him and then immediately away, her glance sliding over him like he’s not even there.

Something warm starts flickering in Ben’s belly, something he likes to think of as his competitive spirit. He’ll make her see him—the back of him, when he flies past her out of a corner on the track.

This could be fun.

*

Race weekends always follow the same schedule: practice Friday and Saturday, qualifying Saturday, race Sunday. So on the Friday morning before the first race of the year, Rey’s swiping her badge to enter the paddock, looking for a snack before practice. Her stomach is uneasy, but it’s just hunger, not nerves, right? She beelines for the free food in the Skywalker Racing hospitality suite.

Rey’s just gotten the tongs around a little cinnamon bun when Poe, her teammate, strides up to the buffet and swats her hand.

“They barely put any cinnamon in those,” he whispers. He takes the tongs and drops a croissant on her plate. “These at least have real butter.”

“Um, thanks.”

“If you learn one thing this season, rookie, make it the breakfast items,” he says. “They’re always the same at every race. The team dinners are different, though.”

“You don’t want to give me any driving advice? That’s what we’re here to do.”

“Left foot brake, right foot throttle,” he says. “Try to use your right foot more than your left and you’ll go faster.”

“You think you know so much just because you’ve been on the team for a couple years.”

“I know that both Leia and Luke like whisky, if you’re looking to help them decide which driver gets the better race strategy.”

“How sneaky and underhanded of you.”

“I like whisky too, and if you’re nice maybe I’ll tell you where I’m going out after the race tomorrow so you can buy me a drink.”

“I’m always nice.”

“Well, then, that’s my driving advice. Don’t be.” He winks and strolls off to sit with the crew, who make a big show of pulling up a chair and slapping him on the back.

Poe’s a good teammate, especially for her first year. In theory, he’s her main rival. They’re competing against each other in two virtually identical cars, so there are no excuses if her lap times are slower than his.

But he doesn’t make himself feel like a threat. He’s focused but not too serious, and she’s seen him flirt with everyone, so it feels like she’s part of the gang when he teases her. His ideas aren’t always the greatest—he spent 15 minutes in a team meeting arguing that they should switch to a different power unit “because it has the best engine sound”—but he doesn’t seem too interested in making her go along with them. 

Maybe he’s just leaving her alone to make her own rookie mistakes.

*

The drivers have to line up before the season’s first press conference while a harried assistant passes out clip-on microphones and tells them how to put them on. Does Rey actually smell sandalwood and a little sweat before she sees him walk right up next to her, or does she just imagine that’s how he’ll smell? Doesn’t matter. _He’s rude and he stinks_ , she reminds herself.

Ben ignores the mic instructions and holds out his hand.

“I’m Ben,” he says. “Welcome to the big leagues.”

She gives him a firm handshake to establish dominance and does _not_ think about how smooth and warm his skin is, not clammy like hers, and how she can barely get her slender fingers around his long ones.

“We’ve met before. I hope you brought your own coffee this time.” 

His eyes don’t show any surprise, so she knows he’s already figured it out. Maybe he’s introducing himself to try to play nice. Or to throw her off balance before they actually have to race each other. This is exactly the kind of mind-games shit he’s famous for on the internet. He’s not going to get one over on her, though.

“I did. Bring my own coffee. I hope you brought your A game.”

“I always do,” she retorts, jamming her mic on and marching into the meeting room.

The questions are meant to be softballs, but between the nerves and her irritation at Ben, Rey practically crunches her teeth listening to the other drivers answer.

Does the Finn think it will be a good season? “Yes.” _Ha ha, he hates talking to the press, let’s move on._

What does Poe think of the car this year? “I love it. It’s even faster than last year’s, which, if you remember, I drove to third place in the drivers’ championship.” _We all know, you’re so great._

Can Ben comment on leaving his family’s team to join a different one? “It’s been really positive. Of course, coming from a line of racing drivers like I do, I expect to keep winning no matter what team I’m on. I just hope that the other drivers who don’t know what they’re doing stay out of my way.”

That’s such bullshit. It’s like what people said for years to keep women out of racing. _They don’t know what they’re doing and they can't compete so they should just stay home._ Ignoring the fact that the only way to figure out what you’re doing in a race car is to get in one and practice.

“Are you saying that your family is what gives you the right to be here?” Rey interrupts. “That those of us who don’t come from a long line of racing drivers should just let you pass?”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt that my family has been winning races for decades and that I learned from the best,” Ben says, his eyes warming. It’s like he’s delighted by her interruption. Amused by her anger. He’s rubber, she’s glue.

“Leia and Luke have been very generous with their expertise. I bet they could even train someone who’s not from a racing family to be a good driver. And maybe if you’d listened to them, you wouldn’t be the star of a meme about crashing into your teammate. That’s, like, rule one of racing.” Rey’s flushed and her heart is beating wildly. She wills her voice to stay firm, not to catch like she’s about to cry.

“It’s a work in progress, isn’t it? I guess we’ll find out over the course of the season. Whether Skywalker has anything besides a fast lap in testing. Whether you can learn. Or whether you end up crashing out like other rookies have done.” 

He folds his hands in front of him like this is no big deal, but Rey can see the whites of his knuckles. She’s getting to him. Time to keep pushing it.

“Didn’t your own grandfather die in a crash after he lost control of his car? Guess your family didn’t help him with that.” 

Okay, that escalated too quickly. As soon as it’s out of her mouth, Rey knows she’s gone too far. Ben’s eyes flash with something hotter than hurt. Poe kicks at her ankle under the table to get her to shut up. 

The reporters lean forward, ready to egg her on, and then the assistant scurries out and announces they’ve run out of time.

Her heart’s still pounding as she starts walking back to her own garage. A red-haired man in a black polo rushes up to Ben ahead of her and starts hissing in his ear. It’s Armie Hux, Ben’s PR person, who followed him from Skywalker to First Order; she recognizes Armie from the punching video, where he tries to calm Ben down and Ben just shoves him away with his left hand and throws the punch with his right. 

Good. Ben’s pissed _and_ in trouble.

She realizes someone else in a black polo is walking next to her: the Finn, Ben’s teammate, the only Black man on the grid and one of a long line of Finnish Formula One drivers who don’t talk much but drive like madmen. 

“Hey,” he says. “Sometimes the questions in those things….” He trails off and shakes his head.

“What about them?”

“They’re really stupid.” That’s all he wants to say, apparently, because he shrugs and strolls off toward someone with a VIP pass who’s frantically waving at him.

She’s trying to figure out whether that’s his Finnish way of being nice when someone else comes up to walk with her.

“What do you want?” she snaps, then realizes it’s Luke, and he looks peeved. 

Shit. She’s going to get kicked off the team before the first race. How can they trust her with a car that costs millions when she can’t even keep her cool in a press conference? She’s going back to sleep on a twin bed in her parents’ tiny house in the rainiest corner of England. She’ll have to tell them they wasted all they money they spent on her racing, all the time they spent driving her to different tracks. Money they didn’t even have in the first place.

“Rey. Let’s talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a [great intro to F1](https://www.notion.so/A-Newbie-s-Guide-to-Formula-1-f48fe039d05340e484d9c918af21cfcf) that explains the championship, the cars, the current drivers, the tires, and how race weekends work.
> 
> tl;dr there are 10 teams, each runs two cars per race  
> First person to finish wins. The top three drivers get to go to the podium after the race, where they hand out trophies and champagne.  
> “Box” means make a pit stop to change tires  
> “P1” means first place (and P2 is second, P3 is third, etc.)  
> Okay that’s basically everything you need to know for the purposes of this fic
> 
> Also: “[F1 is basically WWE for rich Europeans](https://www.sbnation.com/2020/3/5/21157590/formula-1-drive-to-survive-season-2-review-netflix-storylines)” is an extremely correct take. THE DRAMA


	2. I want to push it

Luke leads Rey to the cubicle that he and Leia are using as an office for the race weekend in Australia. He shuts the door, probably so he can fire her in private. Or yell at her for disrespecting his father, Ben’s grandfather; it’s not his fault he died in that crash. She’s suddenly very sorry that she brought it up in the press conference and sniffs to hold the tears back.

Luke just gives her a mild look as he rummages in a battered old knapsack. After extracting five books and a very bruised apple, he pulls out one very dated Walkman, one set of headphones with barely any foam left, and a plastic bag full of cassette tapes.

“I heard about the press conference,” he says.

If she opens her mouth to apologize right now, only a sob will come out. She nods.

“I know you’re nervous, Rey, so I want you to have this,” he continues, indicating the Walkman. Okay, she’s not getting fired or even yelled at. He’s giving her some sort of present. This is bizarre—there are a hundred other drivers who would take her place and not mouth off to reporters—but she’ll take it.

“Thanks,” she says. “Is this music?”

“More like ancient wisdom.” He smiles. “One of our old advisors recorded them years and years ago. A real legend in the racing world. You might recognize his voice. I used to listen to them and meditate before races to focus my mind.”

“Wow, that’s really cool. Thank you.” She’s genuinely touched.

“You can figure out how you want to use them. My father sometimes listened to them when he couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Look, I’m really sorry I brought him up. I can’t believe I let myself get so mad.”

“Ben has a way of bringing that out in people.”

“It’s still not okay. I shouldn’t let him get to me.”

Luke looks at her, considering.

“We’re glad to have you on the team, Rey.” His eyes soften and crinkle at the edges. “Now let’s get that car fired up.”

*

Everything feels better when she’s in the car. She focuses on her feet working in tandem, her hands flicking the steering wheel, her neck bracing as the G-forces slam into her when she brakes hard. She knows how to do this.

And no matter what Ben says, she _knows_ she knows how to do this. She might be one of the first women to get a seat in Formula One, but she’s not an amateur. She’s not a little girl, either, and she doesn’t have to laugh it off when people say stupid things in public. Not anymore. 

Fine, biting her tongue for years might have made her extra sensitive to Ben’s suggestion that she doesn’t belong here, even if what he said wasn’t outright sexist. But she didn’t spend years as a teenager changing her own tires and sourcing her own go-kart parts and struggling to move from Formula Three to Formula Two for nothing. _I belong here_ , Rey tells herself.

Practice flies by. On Saturday, she qualifies sixth. Then it’s a blur of doing interviews and meeting sponsors and signing posters and going over strategy and having team dinner and rolling over and over in the hotel sheets and when she blinks, it’s Sunday. 

Time to race.

She swipes into the paddock early and puts on one of Luke’s tapes while she stretches in the cubicle she uses to get dressed in her fireproof gear. There’s no introduction, just a man with a British accent and a kind of lived-in voice talking in an echoey room.

“Use the downforce,” he says. “The downforce is what gives all racing cars their power. Feel it flow through the car. Reach out to it in the corners. Let it ground you.”

It’s kind of weird, but she’s into it? She lies down, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath, two, three.

Someone knocks. “Rey, are you in there? We need you in 10!”

Shit! She must have fallen asleep. At least she’s relaxed. The feeling stays with her as she zips her suit, squares her shoulders, and walks out into the Melbourne sunshine to go racing.

The radio crackles to life in her ears as Rose, her race engineer, checks in.

“So for the start it’s mode one, position A, please. Did someone tell you about the tweaks to the anti-stall? Basically we’ve adjusted the software based on your feedback—”

“Rose,” Rey interrupts. “I know about the changes. We did some practice starts yesterday.”

“Okay, okay, I just want to make sure you have all the information.”

“It’s fine! The car feels great.”

“Oh yeah, the tire temperatures look really good.”

Is Rose anxious too? She’s talking a lot more than usual. Rey knows it’s Rose’s first race as a driver’s lead engineer, whose job is to keep the driver updated on the race and any strategy calls. But Rose is so technically brilliant, whipping out stats as easily as Rey could talk about her most recent breakfast, that it never occurred to Rey they’d both be nervous.

“Hey, Rose?” she says. “We’re gonna have a good race. I’m fine, you’re fine, and together we’re gonna make the right calls. Okay?”

It’s not the greatest pep talk, but she’s almost through the formation lap, so it’ll have to do.

She pulls into her slot on the starting grid and finishes checking her settings while she waits for the 14 cars starting behind her to get into position. Once they’re all ready, one of the track marshals will wave the green flag. The five red starting lights will switch on one by one, then go off to signal the race start.

When she dreams about this, it’s quiet and almost still: just her and the lights silently going on, the only sound her own steady breathing in her helmet. In reality, the engine’s rumbling behind her like something alive, trembling with the readiness to spring forward.

Then it’s lights out and her training takes over. Clutch out, accelerate, climb higher and higher through the gears, watch the mirrors. She lets herself fly toward the first corner, getting aggressively onto the racing line so no one can pass her, then feels the straps hold her body to the seat as she taps the brakes and slows into the turn.

God, this is fun.

*

Rey moves up to third place, then falls back to fifth after her pit stop. She’s hanging out there—feeling pretty good for her first race—until the last few laps, when she suddenly glimpses the car right ahead of her and tells Rose.

“Okay, Rey, the time to the car ahead is two-point-five seconds,” Rose informs her. “But we will not catch up by the end of the race.”

“I want to push it,” Rey says.

“The tires are going to fall off,” Rose says matter-of-factly. “They’ve been on for 25 laps. Solo’s on the radio saying his are dead after 27 laps. You’ll be sliding to the checkered flag.”

What a liar. Rey would bet anything his tires are fine and he’s just trying to make the other teams think he’s in trouble. That way he’ll look like even more of a hero when he wins anyway. She’s watched him pull the same move in at least five different race replays.

“Does he have fastest lap?” Rey will already earn points if she finishes in the top 10. But you get an extra point if you finish in the top 10 and set the fastest lap time of the race. And the driver with the most points at the end of the season is the champion. 

“Yes. But another stop for fresh tires will take too long,” Rose says. “We’d rather have the fifth-place points than an extra one for fastest lap.”

“Why don’t I get those points and fastest lap?” The problem is, it’s tricky to set a fastest lap on tires that have been on the car for a while and have lost a lot of their grip. Both Rose and Rey know this.

“Seriously?”

“I’m not that far off his time, am I?”

Rose pauses, then says, “I think we have a shot.”

She’s back a minute later with a few suggestions. “You’re losing time in turn 15. And when you start your lap, toggle mode 12.”

“Mode 12? Have we tested that?”

“No time like the present,” Rose says firmly. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay, copy,” Rey says. Maybe her pep talk was more effective than she thought? Rose has gone from nervous to commanding.

Rey flies through the last few turns toward the starting line, ready to start her final lap, her chance to do the fastest lap and take the point away from Ben. 

She takes a deep breath, tapping into that relaxed feeling from the start of the race. _Use the downforce. Let it ground you._

*

When she crosses the finish line, she doesn’t even have to ask. She does her cooldown lap, parks behind the other cars, and runs to the pit wall to find Rose.

The engineer is already out of her seat. “Fastest lap and P5 on your first race? Get it, girl!”

“Holy shit,” Rey says, and laughs. “We fucking did it!” She’s high on adrenaline and giddy with relief now. She didn’t fuck up her first race. She actually did...really well.

“You did it!” Rose shouts, just as giddy. “Great driving! Amazing tire management!” They’re hugging and jumping now.

“I can’t believe mode 12 worked! You are a genius! That was brilliant!”

“It was all you! I knew you could do it!”

Rey finally takes off her helmet and balaclava so she can look Rose in the eye. “Thanks for letting me go for it. We make a good team.”

“I think so too. I’m so—” Rose suddenly cuts off, looking over Rey’s shoulder and stepping out of their hug. They both turn as Ben strides up, sweaty and scowling.

“It sounds like a kindergarten over here with the screaming,” he says gruffly. “Congratulations, though. I heard you got lucky on the fastest lap.”

“Maybe you’ll get lucky next time. Congratulations on your race win, I guess.” Rey takes off her glove and sticks out her hand. “Here’s me showing good sportsmanship.”

Ben shakes hers, their palms sliding hot and wet across each other. Then he turns to Rose. “I’m Ben.”

“Rose. Rey’s engineer. I was at the factory for a different team before joining Skywalker this year.”

“She came up with this amazing new engine mode for that last lap. It was incredible,” Rey blurts out, still a little giddy. Should she be telling Ben about this? Whatever. He’s not smart enough to figure out how it works just from knowing it exists.

“Congratulations to you too, then,” he says to Rose. “I have to go get my trophy now.”

*

After Ben leaves the podium, trophy and champagne in hand, Armie pulls him aside in a hallway.

“Don’t I have to go to the press pen for a few more interviews?”

“Yes, but first let’s just take a deep breath and cool off for a second,” Armie says, inhaling loudly like a yoga teacher and motioning, palms up, for Ben to follow.

This seems suspicious. Usually Armie just lets the anger happen and then cleans up after him. “Did Rey already say something that they’re going to ask me about?”

“What? No!” Armie lets out his breath in a big relieved puff. “No, but I saw you talking to her right after the race and I thought she might have said something then.”

Oh. “I just went to congratulate her on the fastest lap,” Ben says. “I do know how to be polite. I shook hands with her and her engineer. Very sportsmanlike. Sportspersonlike.”

“Her engineer?”

“Rose? The woman who wears a Skywalker polo and sits on their pit wall all race but isn’t my mother? Supposedly gave Rey some new engine mode for that lap? Don’t worry, I congratulated her, too.”

“Rose,” Armie repeats. He pauses. “Doesn’t sound like you need to calm down, then. Let’s meet the press!”

*

Ben’s sprawled across his hotel bed that night after the team party, thumbing through his phone, when a new video from the F1 YouTube channel pops up. It’s Rey’s fastest lap from the race, with commentary.

“And it looks like—it looks like the rookie driver from Skywalker Racing is going for the fastest lap.”

“She’ll have quite a task in front of her. Those tires have been on for, what, 28 laps? And Solo was just on the radio saying his were dead after 27.”

“But she’s flying through! She’s really put her mind to it.”

“Solo won’t even see this coming. He’s out in the front of the race by quite a margin. He may not even be paying attention to what’s happening behind him.”

Ben mutes the commentary and just watches Rey take the perfect line from one corner to the next, totally smooth. He doesn’t even need to look at the time to know it’s a great lap.

They were right; he didn’t even see this coming. The thought makes him angry, irritation building behind the pleasant buzz from the party. He’s let himself get overconfident, pushing ahead without keeping an eye on the threats behind him.

Even worse is the fact that she might be a real threat. The Finn and Poe challenge him from time to time, but neither of them is Ben’s equal. It’s addicting, being the best at what he does, and he’s not sure he’s ready to have some upstart rivaling his talent. Especially on her first race.

On the screen, Rey sails across the finish line and they cut to her high-fiving her pit crew, grinning so widely her dimples nearly take over her cheeks. His cock just barely twitches and he glares down at it. _Don’t you dare._ He switches off the video and gets between the sheets. Probably just because he’s buzzed and bored. _Don’t get yourself worked up. Don’t give her too much thought. Just focus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my head Rose somehow has (current F1 driver, all-around lad) [Daniel Ricciardo’s voice](https://youtu.be/KOZvlAUFSdw?t=18) every time she says “Get it, girl!”
> 
> complaining to everyone on the radio that your tires are dead and then winning the race: [a classic f1 move](https://www.espn.com/f1/story/_/id/26825854/lewis-hamilton-flustered-monaco-grand-prix-radio-messages-full)


	3. You look mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's ignore motorsport for a while and take a detour into some filth, mmmkay?

Ben keeps his focus for two weeks. It’s mostly spent at the team’s factory in England, long days that start with a gym session and then get split between driving the simulator and having meetings with the engineering team. A few times he goes to the pub with the Finn in the evenings. It’s kind of nice to sit there in companionable silence slowly draining their pints.

Then they’re in Bahrain for the second race of the season, and it feels like Rey has spent all two weeks thinking of ways to annoy him.

At the first press conference of the weekend, she gets a question about her car and the upgrades the team is working on for later in the season.

“I think first we’ll be looking to get a little more data,” she says. “The car was mostly developed last year, when Ben was driving for the team. So it’s not really designed for my driving style, but for his.”

“And how would you describe his style?” the reporter presses.

She smiles, gets up from her chair, and stomps her feet loudly, imitating Ben’s heavy gait. Everyone laughs.

In practice, he comes around on a fast lap while she’s on a slow one and he has to swerve to get through the corner. His lap is ruined, all because she couldn’t get out of the way.

“What the fuck is she doing?” he shouts into the radio. “It’s fucking amateur hour out here!”

Back in the garage, the crew’s trying not to cower, but he can tell they want to. He throws his steering wheel on the ground and swats away the proffered water bottle, spilling it all over the garage floor. 

His mother used to roll her eyes when he pitched a fit like this, but he never had her control. It feels better to vent the anger than to keep it bottled up.

Except kicking a dent in his dressing room door isn’t a relief. If anything, it makes him even angrier, because now the door doesn’t close properly. He completely loses focus during qualifying and comes third, behind the Finn and Poe.

Standing next to Rey in the press pen for his post-quali interviews, he can see her joking with the reporter and actually has to bite his tongue.

But his interviewer notices anyway. “What’s bothering you today, Ben? You seemed a little off in qualifying.”

“I’m still concerned after practice yesterday,” he says, loudly enough for Rey to overhear. “It’s dangerous to have drivers out on the track who can’t get out of the way. I mean, they used to give penalties for impeding other cars.”

She’s laughing too much at her own joke to pay any attention to him.

“Just relax,” Armie says when he finally leads Ben away. “Today doesn’t matter. The race is tomorrow.”

That’s the problem. His irritation keeps burning away in his stomach as he sits through the team dinner, and then he’s alone (again) in his hotel room, with nothing left to do but rest before the race.

Under the covers, he closes his eyes and tries to visualize a perfect lap, tapping his fingers against the sheets to mimic gear shifts and pulsing his toes for throttle and brakes.

The covers are too hot, even though he’s naked. He kicks them off.

He wishes he’d made a recording of Luke’s tapes. Those always put him to sleep in no time. But it’s not the same without that voice whispering into his ears, and anyway, all he can remember is _Use the downforce_ , and everything is pent up behind this block of frustration.

He sighs, turns off the light, and reaches for the box of tissues from the other side of the bed. He’s not even hard yet, so he’s going to have to think of something good to get his cock interested. He mentally flips through his go-tos—the first blowjob he got as a teenager, his girlfriend at the time looking surprised as she sweetly tried to cram all of him in her mouth; meeting a sponsor rep at one of the team parties and tugging her evening gown aside to mouth at her clit in a bathroom stall—and it stirs a little.

Maybe just a little fantasy to get going.

_It’s Wednesday night. Quiet. It’s 9:20 and the phone hasn’t even rung since he got back from his last delivery. Finals aren’t for another few weeks, and nobody parties in the middle of the week. He pulls out a textbook and starts on the reading due Friday. Might as well make the most of the time before they close at 10._

Ben lets one arm flop over his eyes and strokes himself lightly with the other hand. _Just relax_ , he tells himself. _Enjoy this. It’s fine that your fantasy includes studying. It’s...realistic._

_The phone rings. His boss picks it up and takes the order, then passes the slip to Ben so he can start on the pie. The address is an apartment at a complex just off campus. Ben smiles. He’s made quite a few deliveries there._

_“Just deliver those and then go on home,” his boss says. “I’ll lock up here.”_

_Ben boxes up the pizza, zips it into the delivery bag, and says good night to his boss as he heads out the door to his car. He doesn’t need to look up directions on his phone. He knows exactly where to go. Getting closer gets him more excited, and he reaches down to adjust himself in his jeans at a stoplight._

He likes where this is going. He’s hard now, but forces himself to keep it light, keep it slow. Draw it out.

_He only has to knock once before the door flies open. She’s wearing a flimsy silk robe that shimmers in the porch light and leaves most of her long legs bare. She’s tied it loosely at the waist so he can see the edges of her tits._

_He clears his throat. “Someone ordered one large sausage?”_

_“Ooh, I did, but I can’t find my wallet!” she pouts. “Why don’t you come inside while I look for it?”_

_He does, and follows her into the kitchen. “Late night of studying?”_

_She smiles up at him. “My econ final is coming up, and it’s going to be so hard. I just got so hungry and I thought, I’ll get a pizza. Something hot and heavy that will really fill me up.”_

_He reaches out and grabs her shoulder. “What if I filled you up with something else?”_

_She presses the front of her body against his. “Like your big, meaty cock?”_

_He pulls her in to kiss her, feeling the silk slide over her ass, walking them back so she’s pushed up against the kitchen island. “Turn around.”_

_She smiles again and reaches her hands across the countertop. He brushes her hair off her neck and starts kissing her there, untying the robe so he can reach around and roll her nipples between his fingers. He strokes some of the wetness from between her thighs and across her clit, making her moan._

_“I need it,” she says. “I’m so hungry for your cock.”_

_“Don’t worry, baby. It’s right here.” He takes a hand away to undo his jeans and pull it out. He presses on her back and she bends over, wriggling her ass toward him to show how eager she is. He slides into her all at once and chuckles when she lets out a gasp._

_“Are you full now? Is that good?”_

_She nods and he starts working her slowly, each thrust just a tiny bit harder than the last, building up to what they’ve both been waiting for._

Ben spits into his palm, then grips his erection just a little tighter and starts working it a little faster. His breathing sounds loud in the empty room, and he slides one leg up and down the sheets as a wave of pleasure crests over him.

_He wraps his fingers around her hips, thumbs sliding over her pert little cheeks. He’s going to make them bounce. He drives into her harder, faster, making her gasp again and then moan again. She presses her hands into the counter and fucks herself back against him, meeting each thrust. He reaches around to rub her clit with one hand while holding her hips steady with the other._

_“God, Ben! Don’t stop!”_

_He doesn’t. He just keeps slamming into her, as deep as he can go._

Ben is so close. He just needs a little something else to tip him over the edge. He tugs at his balls. No. He pinches a nipple. No. Then he gets another idea, and he swears his straining cock swells even more with anticipation.

_“I’m so close, Ben. Fuck!”_

_“Look at me. I want to see your face when you come. How good you look.”_

_She turns her head, shaking her chestnut hair away from her face, and looks at him, hazel eyes focused and bright with expectation._

_“I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”_

_She gasps one last time and laughs as her cunt clenches around him, and once Ben sees Rey’s smile he’s gone, too, fingers clutching tightly at her hip as the rest of him goes loose to let the orgasm wash through him._

It feels like all the tension in his body has just leapt out of his cock. Fuck, finally. Ben grabs a wad of tissues, wipes his chest, and rolls over into a deep sleep.

*

Rey likes the idea of listening to Luke’s tapes, tapping into this well of secret racing knowledge, but it seems like they’re doing less and less to help her focus. If she’s honest with herself, most of the time they put her to sleep. Or maybe she’s just more irritable these days, easily distracted.

She knows Ben called for her to get a penalty after practice in Bahrain. But it’s not her fault his engineer didn’t tell him which cars were ahead. It’s her job to drive fast, not watch out for everyone else at all times. And it was just practice. _And_ after all that complaining, he still won the stupid race.

Even so, she goes into the press conference in Shanghai two weeks later on edge, wondering if he’ll still be mad. If she’ll need to watch her mouth and not let him goad her into saying something else she’ll regret.

At least Ben’s tone is calm when he answers questions. “It’s going to be interesting today,” he says mildly. “I think it’s a track that really rewards an aggressive approach. 

“I know a couple weeks ago we all had a good laugh about me being heavy-handed. Or heavy-footed, as Rey demonstrated. But what’s the point of going racing if you’re not going to go all out? I know if you’re less skilled it can be scary to push it, but that’s no excuse.”

Okay, he’s still pissed. He looks at her and lifts his eyebrows slightly to make his point and she has to grit her teeth to keep a retort from fighting its way out. So now trying to drive smoothly instead of manhandling the car is for losers?

Apparently so. In Australia, the car felt like a champion steed she could ride to victory. Here in China a month later, it feels like a dog twice her size pulling at the leash. Or maybe it’s her own anger, dragging her where it wants to go.

She loses control in the last practice and smashes into the wall—not hard enough to get hurt, but hard enough that it’s a scramble for the mechanics to get the car ready for qualifying. The setup still isn’t quite right, and she only qualifies tenth, nowhere near her expectations.

Somehow she fakes a smile in the press pen and tells the reporters how excited she is to race on Sunday— _it’s all so new and thrilling still!_ —and then finds herself behind Ben and Armie as they all head back to their garages, close enough to eavesdrop.

“I can’t even remember the last time I crashed,” Ben says. “I guess mystery engine modes aren’t that helpful when your front wing’s broken off.”

“Thank god you didn’t say that in front of the press,” Armie says, groaning. “Just chill. Focus on your race.”

Rey presses her fingernails into her palms and imagines her fist against Ben’s face, her knuckles splitting his scarred cheek. Doesn’t he remember the crash where he got that scar?

“Hey! You look mad,” Rose says, interrupting.

“That smug motherfucker and his dumb sidekick,” Rey says, using her chin to point to the pair ahead. “They can’t stop talking shit about me.”

“Even his press guy?” Rose looks disappointed.

“Okay, Armie is fine. He told Ben to calm down and focus on the race.”

“Look, Rey, you should calm down, too. I know the setup isn’t quite right. But we’ll get there,” Rose soothes.

“I should be able to handle a different setup, though!” Rey snaps. “I’m just so frustrated with myself. It took forever for the guys to fix the car this afternoon.”

“Hey, if you’re not crashing, you’re not trying,” Rose shrugs. “At least, that’s what my dad always says.”

It’s nice of Rose to try to make her feel better, but Rey’s bad mood isn’t having it. She’s so quiet in the team meeting that even Poe stops his own stream of banter to give her a look, and there’s a frown line between her eyebrows when she looks in the mirror getting out of the shower.

Tossing the fluffy hotel bathrobe on the floor, she flops onto her bed. Nothing like a good night’s sleep to clear the mind. That, and—

The vibrator was one of the first things she’d bought after signing her contract and moving out of her parents’ house. Even at the lowest setting, its buzzing is harsh in the quiet hotel room. She’ll start with her fingers, then, just lightly teasing the soft skin over her clit.

_A hush falls over the house after lunch. The slow ticking of the clock and the drone of the bees in the gardens make Rey drowsy. She scratches out half a letter, then gives up, moving from her desk to sink into a chaise by the window. It’s cracked, but the air is too still for it to help. It’s so hot, and there are so many hours left in the afternoon before she can decently have a cocktail._

_Resting her flushed cheek against the cool wooden edge of the chaise, she watches bits of hedge fly through the air. They’re followed by a huge pair of shears and the huge body of one of the gardeners. He’s taken his shirt off, and she can watch his broad shoulders bow in and out with each cut. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow, then runs his other hand through his hair to push it off his face._

_His eyes dart to the window and she starts, a frisson running down her spine._

_There’s too much glare from the sunshine. He can’t see inside, catch her eyes on him. Can he?_

_She sits up with an idea. Something that will refresh her more than a cocktail. She rings the bell._

This is good. Calming. Rey starts pressing a little harder, drawing circles around the nub to tease herself.

_He’s wearing a shirt again when the butler brings him in, but it’s damp with sweat and clings to the muscles she watched rippling in the sunshine. She stands before the chaise in her own damp dress and accepts his nod._

_“Miss, I’ll take care of the roses today like we discussed,” the gardener says quietly as the butler withdraws and shuts the door. Then he adds, “I wouldn’t want anyone to get pricked.”_

_“I’m not worried about that.” She steps forward._

_“Then what did you want to discuss?”_

_“I didn’t call you in here to talk.” She’s close enough to smell the fresh bite of the hedge clippings stuck to his sleeve._

_His eyes glitter with understanding, but he doesn’t move yet. The clock marches on. A bead of sweat slips down her back. A bead of moisture trickles into her underwear._

_Then she loses patience and kisses him herself, pushing her tongue at the seam of his lips as her fingers find his shirt buttons. He groans into her mouth as she reaches up to push the fabric over his shoulders and tugs at the sleeves._

_Once his torso is bare, he moves his long fingers to her breasts, pulling them out of the top of her dress and brushing her nipples with the pads of his thumbs. His callouses are rough but his touch is soft._

Rey switches on the vibrator again, keeping it gentle, circling from the wetness of her cunt to her clit and back again.

_Taking him by the hand—their palms sliding hot and wet against each other—she steps back into the chaise. She spreads her legs and pulls him between them._

_He sinks to his knees and pushes her back, kissing his way from her lips to her neck to her collarbones to her exposed tits. His hands move in the opposite direction, slipping under her skirt and stroking her inner thighs to encourage her to spread them wider._

_Another frisson of anticipation shoots through her as he lifts his eyes to hers—_

—and she’s definitely using Ben’s eyes for the gardener in her fantasy. Well, all of him, if she’s being honest. Where else would those shoulders and hands have come from? Rey shuts her eyes and clicks the vibrator one notch higher.

_The clock is still ticking and the bees are still droning, but now they’re drowned out by the wet lapping of his tongue on her clit and the panting she’s doing. He dips one finger into her wetness and slides it into her cunt, then another, never letting up on her clit._

_Every time she whimpers, he hums with satisfaction. It’s maddening. She needs more._

_“Take your pants off now and fuck me,” she commands._

_His tongue stops, but his fingers keep moving. “So greedy. You want my fingers and my cock?”_

_“Yes,” she breathes. “Give it all to me.”_

_“It would be my pleasure, miss,” he says. “But I think you should take this before I give you my cock.” He works a third finger into her cunt and she gasps at the stretch, trying to shift her hips away. He lays his other hand on her abdomen to keep her still and starts up again with his tongue._

It’s fine, she’s just imagining three of Ben’s fingers crammed into her dripping cunt. It’s not like she wants it to happen for real. 

It’s not like it will happen for real, because they hate each other. It’s just like the times she jerked off to thoughts of a mermaid getting fucked by a tentacled sea monster and an evil witch that snuck into men’s houses to peg them. Totally unrealistic.

She might as well get an orgasm out of it. Rey turns the vibrator all the way up and holds it against her clit, knowing that all she has to do is keep it there and let it bring her over the edge.

_Slowly at first, then faster and faster, he fucks her with his fingers as she—somehow—gets wetter and wetter. It gives her something to clench against while his tongue flicks at her mercilessly, pushing her up and up and up._

_There’s a delicious moment at the peak where she can see her orgasm before she feels it. When she cries out, he works even harder, fingers and tongue never slowing. She plunges into it, jerking her hips toward his face, rubbing herself on his mouth as she comes._

Rey turns the vibrator down as the last pulses course through her. She pulls the sheets over her jellified legs and sinks, boneless, into the mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ch 1: here’s a fun F1 guide  
> ch 2: here’s a fun youtube link  
> ch 3: here's absolutely zero links to make it seem like this is fact-based wheeeeeeee


	4. Dangerous driving

“Can we please take a look at the drain covers?” Rey pipes up. “I don’t want one coming off and ripping up the floor of my car.”

The official handling the drivers’ briefing in Azerbaijan makes a concerned face. “We’ve addressed that after incidents in previous years,” he says. What a brush-off.

“Yeah, in previous years,” someone else replies. “Like, more than one year. We’ve seen those covers come loose a lot. Just send the track marshals out to double-check.”

Hold the phone, Rey knows that voice. It’s Ben. Shouldn’t he be arguing with her? Saying the drain covers on the Baku street circuit are only a danger to inexperienced drivers?

She catches up to him after the meeting.

“Are you fucking with me?”

“Am I fucking you—what?”

“With the drain covers. Why did you back me up?”

Does he look relieved? She can’t tell. Every time she meets his gaze, her brain makes a series of leaps that goes _eyes — Ben — gardening — ORGASM_ and is totally unhelpful. But that episode was two weeks ago, and she hasn’t thought about his body while touching herself at all since then. Well, not very much.

“It’s dangerous. For everyone,” he says. “They should be taking it seriously.”

She’s about to agree—you’re actually right, it’s a miracle, stop the presses—when Poe comes up and gets between them.

“Is this man bothering you, Rey?”

“My knight in shining armor!” she says, clasping her hands to her heart dramatically.

“Allow me to slay the dragon and defend your honor, milady,” Poe says. He tries to punch Ben in the dick—why the male drivers are always doing this to each other, Rey still hasn’t figured out; surely there are better ways of joking around and embarrassing each other in front of reporters—but Ben’s faster and dick-punches Poe first.

“I’m wounded! Don’t leave me behind, captain!” Poe cries, slumping against Rey and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Also, we’re going to be late for team meeting.”

Rey rolls her eyes and pushes him away. “How inspiring to see two grown men behaving this way.”

“You can punch us, too, Rey. That’s what feminism means,” Poe says sagely. “We gotta go, though, or Leia will start without us. Good luck today, Ben! I do _not_ miss being your teammate.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Ben says. “You, too.”

*

Whatever détente Rey and Ben might have reached in the drivers’ briefing has evaporated by the start of the third qualifying session.

They’re scrapping over pole position, making every lap just a little bit faster than the last, taunting the other to try again before time runs out.

Rose is fired up in Rey’s ear. “Rey, you can beat Ben’s lap time and get pole. I just want you to push for one more lap. Do you copy?”

“Yes, Rose, understood.”

“Good. Go get it, girl.”

Rey takes a deep breath and focuses. This time, she doesn’t reach for something calming from the tapes like _Seek balance in the car_. She’s hungry. She wants this. _Go get it._

She flies through the angular stretches that start the circuit, shooting down the straight, easily handling the near-right-angle turns.

“Coming up on Poe,” Rose says. “He’s getting out of the way.”

“Who else?” She’s coming up to the narrow part of the track that heads up into the old-town section.

“Ben’s just ahead.”

It all seems to happen at once. She sees his car, going way slower than she expected, realizes there’s barely enough room to squeeze by, and jerks the steering wheel to avoid contact. Her front right tire just rubs his front left. Her lap is ruined, and so is her chance at pole position.

She slows down and waits for him to pull alongside her.

“What the fuck!” she screams, even though he probably can’t hear. She gives him the finger to get the message across, but her other hand is shaking on the wheel, and their front wings clatter together, sending a shower of carbon fiber bits onto the street.

She speeds up and drives off ahead of him—away from him—trying to stop shaking.

“Rose, what the fuck was he doing there? I almost slammed into him!”

“I know, Rey, I know. We’ll look at the video. They’re saying he had a problem with his car and had to slow down,” Rose says calmly. “Take a couple deep breaths, okay? You did great avoiding a crash.”

Rey realizes she's breathing hard and harsh. Her stomach heaves a little from the adrenaline. _I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay_ , she repeats to herself. _I didn’t crash. No thanks to that fucking donkey in the First Order car_.

*

Leia takes off her headset and starts walking out of the garage, motioning for Rey to follow when she gets out of the car. Of course. This is so much worse than a blow-up in a press conference—it’s going to take time for the mechanics to fix the car, and it will cost the team money to replace the front wing. 

So instead of a chat about meditation tapes with Luke, this time she’ll get a talking-to from the real team boss.

“Rey, you did a good job today. There could have been a lot more damage,” Leia starts. Here it comes. “But it looks like you’re going to get a penalty.”

This is better than expected—she won’t be fired for nearly smashing into the team principal’s son, even if it was his fault for hanging his ass out in a section with no runoff area—and also worse.

“A penalty?” Rey sputters. “But it wasn’t even my fault!”

“I know that, and I’ve tried to argue your case. Rose put in a complaint as soon as the incident happened,” Leia explains. “I wanted you to know so you’re not surprised when you get called to see the stewards.”

“I appreciate it, but I just don’t see how I can be the one getting a penalty when Ben was the one slowing me down! I could have been on pole!”

Leia looks her in the eye. “Yes, you could have. Which is really what I want to talk to you about. You’re so talented, but sometimes I see frustration in your driving. And I think that’s what’s holding you back. Not whatever Ben is doing.”

Does Leia think of her just like Ben does? A talented driver, but still rough around the edges. Not a contender. Not true competition.

“What about my fastest lap in Australia? That was my first race,” Rey argues. “That was a great lap.”

“Don’t you want podiums, too?”

“Yes, but—”

“Look, I know you want to win, and I think you can,” Leia continues. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have hired you. But I need you to think about the team. Not what other drivers are doing.” 

“I can do that.”

“So show me,” Leia says. Her eyes soften, just like Luke’s did at the end of their conversation. “And stop looking so miserable. It’s still early in the season.”

*

Rey’s dreading the meeting with the stewards. It’s like being called to the principal’s office, except there are several principals and they have the telemetry data from her entire qualifying session—every flick of the steering wheel and press of the brakes.

She waits for at least five hundred anxious taps of her foot against the folding chair until finally the floor starts shuddering with Ben’s angry tread. He doesn’t even look at her, just stomps in, takes a deep breath, and greets the chief steward in a weirdly friendly voice.

“Look who’s back! We haven’t seen very much of each other yet this season. Heard you found something particularly nice in Paris this year,” he adds. First he’s late for this meeting, now he’s sucking up to the stewards? The fucking nerve.

The chief steward chuckles. “Your father did a good job driving up the price, but I won in the end.” Then he turns to face Rey, too. “But we’re not here to talk about my vintage car collection.

“We’ve determined that each of your teams will be fined for dangerous driving. And both of you will get a five-place grid penalty tomorrow.”

“Sir, it wasn’t even my fault!” Rey protests. “Look at the data again!”

“Five places?” Ben asks. Now his voice is low and tight. He’s breathing hard through his nose.

“Five places,” the chief steward repeats. “Your teams will get a letter informing them of our official decision. Thank you for coming in.” He smiles and motions at the door, dismissing them.

*

“You sneaky fucker,” Rey shouts as soon as the door closes behind them. “Convincing them your car was broken, just so you could park your ass on the hill and ruin my lap.”

“I’m not the one ramming my car into other people,” Ben retorts, still in his odd, tight voice. “Both of us could have gotten hurt.”

“Didn’t your engineer tell you to get out of the way? Or did you just ignore him?”

“Didn’t _your_ engineer tell you I was there? Or was she too busy fiddling with other engine modes to do her job?”

The door opens a crack and the chief steward pokes his head out. “We can still hear you.” He shuts it firmly.

Rey grabs Ben’s wrist and marches down the hallway to the women’s restroom. 

“In here,” she hisses. “Practically no women in this sport to use this.” She kicks the door open, pushes him inside, and kicks it closed. 

“What was actually wrong with your car?” she spits, crossing her arms. “I’m sure there’s a great explanation for why you had to slow down. So tell me.”

“First you explain how you went from being ahead of me to getting our front wings tangled.”

“I could have been on pole tomorrow!” She’s yelling now.

“You can’t be on pole if you don’t beat me.” He’s not quite yelling, but his face is flushed and his jaw is working.

“Someday I’m going to beat you, and you can’t stand it! That’s why you have to pull shit like this.” She stamps her foot and it echoes off the tiles and mirrors.

“Last I checked, I’m still the defending champion and you’re still a rookie!” He slams a fist into the door, making it shake. They’ve totally leaped the bounds of the original argument. Now they’re just stomping in a puddle of anger, trying to splash mud on each other.

“Why can’t you show me some respect for once!” She tries to poke a finger into his chest, but just like with Poe’s dick-punch, Ben’s faster, and grabs her.

They look at her hand in his larger one, both breathing hard.

He drops her wrist. “Don’t touch me,” he growls.

Rey’s going to explode. “I’ll touch you if I want,” she growls back. She looks him dead in the eye as she jerks her face up and presses her lips to his.

It’s not a relief. The anger surges from her belly to her lips to her fingertips, hot and molten. She shoves him back against the door, stepping between his legs to press the whole front of her body against his, taking his wrists and trying to hold them down. Her teeth snag on his bottom lip and she sinks them in, not gently. He groans and pulls away, nostrils flaring.

“You want to touch me?” His voice is low and harsh. “You want me to touch you?”

He doesn’t wait for her to answer. He grabs her ass and lifts her against him, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist, then turns them around so she’s the one pinned against the door, writhing underneath him as he kisses her until she can barely breathe.

That hot and molten anger thickens, like it’s boiled long enough, and settles in her core, gathering in her cunt and slipping slowly, torturously, down her walls. She’s never been more turned on in her life.

“You better fucking touch me,” she says furiously, and grabs the back of his head to keep his mouth on hers. He grinds against her so she can feel how hard he is, even though they’re both still in layers of flame-resistant race suit, making the door rattle with each thrust. She wants to make him fall apart. Even more, she wants this, wants him to keep doing this until she falls apart. Or for both of them to strip so she can make him take her on the bathroom floor, hands and knees on the cold tile and Ben filling her with heat.

“I’m going to make you scream my name,” he says. “Even louder than—”

“Ben? Rey?”

Oh holy fuck. It’s Rose in the hallway. They stop writhing and Ben lifts his head.

“I thought we’d be able to hear them yelling by now.” Fantastic, that’s Armie with Rose.

They hold completely still as Rose and Armie’s footsteps come closer and closer, then pass. Ben slides Rey down the door, so it doesn’t rattle and give them away.

“Stay here,” she says. “I’ll leave first.” She smooths her hair, eyes drifting to the bulge in Ben’s suit, and licks her lips.

He notices. “805.”

“What?”

“My room number. If you want to see what’s under the suit.”

It’s the most tempting offer she’s had since her Formula One contract, judging by how wet the thought makes her. But is it really a good idea? He also drives her up the wall. She scoffs and leaves the restroom.

*

Ten minutes of deep-breathing, boner-calming exercises later, Ben finds Rose and Armie by the water cooler, clearly having abandoned the search. Rose is pointing to her sneakers and explaining something to do with strike force when they both hear Ben’s footsteps and spin around, looking slightly guilty.

“There you are!” Armie says. “We had just about given up on you.”

“Where’s Rey?” Rose says.

“We had an argument, and she stormed off.” The lie slips out more easily than Ben expected.

“Sounds like my cue to go after her.” Rose recycles her water cup. “Ben, I’ll kill you if you upset my driver any more before the race. Armie, nice to finally meet you.”

“Me too! Uh, I mean—” It’s too late; she’s walked away. Armie goes pink, then turns to Ben. “Well? Did you make her cry?” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Rose seems nice. Apparently a very good engineer, too.”

Now Armie’s bright red. “She was telling me about her new running shoes. I saw her sprinting over here to look for Rey, so I asked how she developed her stride.”

Ben swats him in the dick. “Attaboy.”

*

**Rey:** sorry to bug you after dinner

**Rose:** no prob  
was just thinking about you  
ok about supersofts vs ultrasofts  
for you for tomorrow  
tire data from today is so good

**Rey:** it’s a personal question  
obvs not going to ask poe  
not about you though

**Rose:** oh my god forget tires  
i need some drama  
my friends have stopped sharing  
bc i’m too busy

**Rey:** lol yeah  
mine too  
i had an interesting offer today

**Rose:** like a date?

**Rey:** god no  
not like i have time  
just sex

**Rose:** VERY INTERESTING

**Rey:** ok but  
should i?  
no  
i should focus on driving, right?

**Rose:** would a man be asking this  
i guarantee poe is doing it right now  
last race my room was next to his

**Rey:** oh god  
good point

**Rose:** i think you need more data  
just bang him  
or her  
them  
make some notes  
see if it’s a distraction  
or not

**Rey:** him  
i’m not going to take notes  
but thank you

**Rose:** mental notes then  
no prob  
get that data  
get it girl

* 

After Ben towels off, he reaches for the bathrobe, then thinks better of it and pulls on underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt. It’s decadent to lounge around in a fluffy robe by himself; it would be creepy to open the door with his balls nearly hanging out below the hem. Even if he clearly invited her to his room for sex.

If she even shows up.

He’d realized the flaw in his plan immediately after Rey left the restroom. Giving her his room number felt right when he was standing there with all his blood pounding through his cock instead of his brain. Phone numbers would have been too presumptuous. But why didn’t he think to specify a time?

Rey could be there right now. Knocking. Waiting. Ready to be on _his_ pole. The thought struck him as they served the salad at the team dinner, and he’d had to sit with the frustration, tinged with arousal, while they brought out the entrees, then dessert.

Finally the servers took away the coffee cups and they all got in vans to go back to the hotel, where Ben claimed a sudden need to look over some data and hurried up to his room to shower.

Now what? Sitting around waiting for the rest of the evening feels sad. He doesn’t want to turn on the TV and miss her knock. He does a set of push-ups. He scrolls through Twitter. He looks out the window. He opens a mineral water from the minibar. He powers up his laptop and opens the data on the power loss that forced him to slow down on the hill and got him the penalty in the first place.

Some nights it’s good to lose himself in the numbers, knowing that they’re pushing the limits of what the car can do. Tonight, he looks at the charts for all of 30 seconds before slipping into a daydream about what Rey’s ass will look like without her suit. 

Okay, but where is she? He knows his mother and Luke don’t have the patience for five-course team dinners chatting to all their sponsors. From the way Rey licked her lips while eyeing him, he thought she’d be dying to come up and see him naked. Did she forget his room number?

He sets the laptop down and does some more push-ups, counting until his lungs burn and his pulse picks up.

That wasn’t his heartbeat. That was a knock at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> five places! these stewards are kind of mean
> 
> the dick-punching is [a real thing that happens](https://twitter.com/F1/status/1150870400424787968)


	5. This is what I want

Rey knocks again, both impatient and not wanting anyone to see her in the hallway. As soon as Ben's muscled forearm appears, gripping the handle, she slips inside his room and leans against the door to make it close faster.

Then they’re alone, together, where they can do anything they want if they could just figure out how to start. When Rey imagined this, somehow they just picked up where they left off in the restroom, bodies pressed against each other, heated from their argument and hungry for more. But she can’t just ask for that, can she? Does she have to start another fight? Whisper “five-place grid penalty” in his ear while rubbing her tits against him?

Rey’s not ashamed of her own desires. Even as a teenager, she couldn’t afford to be coy about what she wanted. No one was going to come knocking at her parents’ door on the off chance that she’d like an F1 contract. She had to march up to the managers she saw at junior races, show them her trophy, and ask if they’d like to represent her. She’d cold-emailed dozens of potential sponsors until a printing company in her hometown agreed to give her enough money for a few extra sets of tires.

Besides, being assertive paid off. Now she has a manager and a contract. 

Unfortunately, her body was more than eager to embrace this particular desire. She’s spent the last half-hour roaming the hotel in search of a vending machine that sold condoms while pretending to be hunting for ice, feeling increasingly swollen and empty and frustrated and ready.

She meets his eyes and thinks she sees her own frustration mirrored there. Good. She reaches out, slowly, grabs a fistful of his T-shirt, and pulls him closer.

He sets an arm on either side of her shoulders and leans in, equally slowly, until she can feel the warmth of his body. It’s powerful, muscles honed against G-forces, built up so they won’t be what breaks down first in a race. It would be threatening if she didn’t want him to press even closer, open her up and work himself inside.

“Is this what you wanted, Rey?” he asks in that low, taunting, too-controlled voice from the stewards’ room. The one that means he’s actually about to lose it.

Her frustration spikes. “No,” she says. “ is what I want.”

She lifts her head and kisses him and there it is, the heat whipping through her body as soon as she feels the softness of his lips. Their tongues meet, their teeth touch, their breath starts coming in short, greedy huffs. She grabs his ass to pull his hips closer, its firmness making her want to bite his cheeks, feel the muscles under her teeth. He kneads her tits, her ass, pressing at the seam of her jeans and making her cunt pulse, pulling her to him as he crowds her against the door. 

He’s already hard. She’s already wet. She’s going to lose her mind.

“I need you to fuck me now,” she hisses into his mouth.

“I already told you I’m going to make you scream.”

Rey moves to undo his belt, but Ben’s faster, shoving her jeans and underwear down over her hips. She takes a step to steer them to the bed, then trips on her pants and falls, taking both of them down in a heap on the carpet.

They don’t slow down.

She rolls toward him and reaches for the zipper of his jeans again, but his hands are already there, working to get his cock out. She kicks her own shoes and pants aside, taking the condom out of the pocket to pass to him. He glances at it, tosses it away, and pulls an extra-large one out of his own pocket to roll on.

She’s expecting a smirk, but he’s too focused on lining himself up and sliding into her. It’s only when he’s fully inside her, hipbones pushing at the tenderest part of her thighs, that he takes a breath, adjusting. It’s what her cunt has wanted for hours, throbbing to remind her it was empty, and now that she has it she’s greedy for more.

She looks him in the eye. “Move,” she snarls, baring her teeth.

“All right. Take it.”

He gives her a couple slow thrusts, as though letting her get used to the stretch, then abandons any pretense of control and starts going hard. She’s dimly aware of the carpet rubbing at her back, but the sensation is drowned out by the feel of him inside her. Words can’t convey how good it is, so she just moans and spreads her legs wider, giving herself better access to her clit.

He groans, watching her touch herself, and thrusts into her even faster. His jaw is set, focused, while his gaze is distant. Like he’s lost in pleasure just the way she is. 

Everything builds—the friction against her walls, the force behind his cock driving into her, her own fingers setting off sparks—and suddenly every sensation resolves into an orgasm. 

She looks at him, holding his eyes as her toes curl, her cunt clenches, her nails rake across his back, her lips open in a moan, all on their own. He grunts and thrusts frantically, mindlessly, hilting himself once, twice, as the last spasms ripple through her and he comes, too. 

Then it’s quiet except for their heavy breathing. He rolls off her and they both lie there on the floor of his hotel room, coming down. Rey’s not sure how much time passes.

Finally he takes the condom off and goes into the bathroom to throw it out. She gets up and puts her clothes back on. When she looks up from tugging her shoes on, he’s watching her, shoulders filling the bathroom doorway.

“I’m gonna go,” she says. “I need to get some sleep before the race.” Should she say something else? How is she supposed to go from being a snarling sex animal to a polite human being again? Especially when they have no relationship beyond arguing and, apparently, fucking each others’ brains out.

He opens his mouth. She shakes her head. “Don’t say anything to make me regret that. I’m just glad we got that out of our systems.”

He steps toward her and for a second she thinks he’s going to kiss her goodbye, but no, he’s reaching past her to open the door, tucking himself behind it because he’s still naked. “Good night, Rey.”

“Good night, Ben.”

*

Rey’s humming as she piles one, two croissants on her plate in the Skywalker hospitality suite.

“Someone’s in a good mood for having a five-place grid penalty,” Poe says, giving her a curious look.

“It’s a beautiful day to go racing,” she says, shrugging. “Besides, you don’t think I can pass a few people?”

“I’m not sure what’s scarier, you on the rampage or this serial-killer vibe,” he says. “Like you’re going to hunt down the other cars while smiling and whistling a little tune.”

“I’ll be smiling all the way to the podium.” She takes a third croissant.

“We’ll see.” He moves on to the espresso machine.

Rey spots Rose sitting down, flushed and sweaty, cheek resting against the table. She lifts her head when Rey sits down.

“Do they have any Gatorade up there?”

“Probably. What happened to you?”

Rose sighs. “I just got these new running shoes. It felt good while I was out there, but now I’m exhausted. Isn’t exercise supposed to energize you?”

Rey shrugs. “Depends. Want a croissant?”

“Mmm, carbs, yes, please.” Rose sits up and holds out her hand. “By the way, how did your data collection go?”

“Lots of data gathered. Still requires analysis.”

“I see. Will you need to collect some more data, too?”

Rey can feel herself blush, but can’t stop it. “We’ll see.”

Rose wiggles her eyebrows. “You totally will, which means it must have been good.” She crams the rest of the croissant in her mouth. “All right, I gotta go change out of these sweaty clothes so I can sweat into some different ones while you race.”

*

Ben feels good this morning. Great, even. His mind is a blue sky freshly cleared by a storm. A storm of frenzied sex. Whatever.

The only cloud is that little engine problem the mechanics can’t quite figure out. It shows up again after 15 laps, when he upshifts out of a turn and doesn’t feel the usual kick of power. He hasn’t made contact with anyone, so there shouldn’t be any damage affecting the car’s performance.

They give the car a once-over when he pits on lap 33, but nothing looks off. But it keeps happening on lap 37, then 38 and 39, too. Other cars start catching up, getting bigger and bigger in his tiny mirrors.

His engineer calls while he’s in the narrow old-town section of lap 39. “Box this lap, Ben.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to retire the car.”

“But I only have 12 laps left!”

“We need to save the engine. Sorry, mate.”

“Understood.” Ben steers into the pit lane, pulls up in front of his side of the garage, and waits for the mechanics to jack the car up and wheel it inside. He’s disappointed but not mad; he would have liked to keep racing, but knows they need to keep the engine from blowing up to avoid taking penalties. It’s a strange feeling. _Is this how Luke feels all the time? Do I just need to get laid before every race instead of trying to meditate?_

Armie’s there, looking anxious, when Ben takes off his helmet.

“Sorry about your engine,” he says. “Can we just go over some talking points before you do the post-race interviews?”

Ben thinks about it while pushing his sweaty hair back so it stays out of his face. “Between the engine problem and the grid penalty, it just wasn’t my weekend? The engine didn’t blow up, hopefully we won’t take any penalties for unscheduled power unit changes, and we’ll try again in Spain in a couple weeks. How’s that?”

Armie looks astonished. “That’s—you’re not mad? You could have been on pole and won the race. You would have been way ahead in the championship points.”

“Don’t remind me.”

*

Cold water drips onto Rey’s neck, making her shiver. It’s not a sudden rainstorm. It’s Poe, sidling up next to her at the bar in a sodden suit.

“Champagne for me, and another drink for the lady,” he says to the bartender, gesturing to Rey and spraying even more cold water on her.

“Stop moving,” she says. “You’re soaked.”

“You should have jumped in the pool! The whole crew got in! The point of the team party is to party!”

“You were on the podium. They helped you get there. I didn’t.”

“Come on, don’t be down,” he says. “Let’s toast to your fourth place. Fourth place! Baku!” He tips his glass against her refilled one.

“Fine. And cheers to your second place. I’m just jealous.”

“You think I got anywhere near the podium in my first season? No way,” Poe says. “But you definitely will. I’m man enough to admit it.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Plus, you don’t have to deal with Ben’s bullshit like I did. ‘Oh, my tires are dead, fix them before you do Dameron’s pit stop.’ You have me as a teammate.”

“We still have to deal with his bullshit. He’s just in a different car.”

Poe gives her a look. “It’s different with you, though. I think he’s afraid of you.”

_Don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush_. Rey sips her drink to give herself time. “He’s got a funny way of showing it.”

“You’ll figure it out. Or just beat his ass.” Poe downs the rest of his champagne and grabs her wrist. “Now, pool time! Out of the way!” He pulls her toward the water. “Rey wants to go swimming!”

*

“It’s boring, don’t you think?” The Finn’s next to him in the team van, waiting for an answer.

Ben has no idea what they’ve been talking about. “Yeah, totally.”

“The track. Resurfacing. They made it too smooth.”

Oh. He actually does agree. “Right? I don’t need to feel like I’m driving a Bentley out there.”

It’s just that Ben’s spent the last two weeks between Baku and Spain remembering that he still doesn’t have Rey’s number, and then he didn’t catch her alone today, and of course they didn’t talk at all about what happened at the last race, and now it’s Saturday night and he really thinks fucking her again would help him focus tomorrow.

He’s almost resigned himself to just jerking off by the time the van lets them off at the hotel. Armie rushes upstairs, muttering about getting enough rest before his morning run, but the Finn lingers, walking into the lobby with Ben.

“You qualified well, but you’re distracted tonight,” the Finn observes.

_Just thinking about how one of our fellow drivers feels coming on my cock_. “Just tired, I think.”

The concierge spots them and rushes over. “Is one of you Mr. Solo?”

Ben takes the piece of paper the concierge gives him and unfolds it to find a phone number. No name, no message. It’s Rey’s, right? Fuck it, he’ll text anyway and see what happens.

The Finn gives him a little smile. “Some important information there.” He gives Ben a wave and walks off toward the elevators.

*

It’s her number, of course, not a random fan’s—thank god, that could have been bad—and they don’t get all their clothes off but they do make it to his bed this time, where she clutches the pillow as she comes and then accidentally falls asleep.

The light outside is just turning from gray to gold when she slips out of his hotel room, gently shutting the door so she doesn’t wake him. She creeps to the elevators and presses the down arrow.

“Morning!”

Rey shrieks and whirls around. It’s Armie in workout clothes, padding up to her soundlessly on the plush carpet.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. What are you doing up so early?”

She blinks. “Just going for a walk. Couldn’t sleep. You?”

“I always go for a run in the mornings. I like to start the day energized, you know?”

She rides all the way down with him—she can’t get off two floors down and go to her room when he thinks she’s just _come_ from her room—then hesitates when he gets off.

“You know what? I think I forgot my phone. I’m going to go back up and check. Have a good run!”

She sits up in her own bed an hour later with an amazing idea.

**Rey:** i need your help

**Ben:** i’m not going to let you pass me

**Rey:** i can do that on my own thanks  
can you give this phone number to armie

**Ben:** sure?  
whose is it?

**Rey:** tell him it’s his new running partner

**Ben:** so your engineer  
nice strategy call

**Rey:** plan b is to lock them in a room together

*

The Finn was right. The track in Spain _is_ a little boring. Ben feels like he’s leading a parade as he puts in lap after lap at the front, extending his lead over the pack every time he goes around. Rey fights her way up to fifth after a slow pit stop, but can’t catch up to the fourth-place car, so the only action is further down in the field.

But that’s fine, because Monaco is next: a femme fatale of a circuit, the Belle Epoque buildings glowing like tanned shoulders, the walls narrowing into sections too skinny for race cars to pass each other without crashing. It’s _the_ Formula One race, the one they won’t take off the calendar even though it doesn’t quite pass safety regulations. 

Ben’s loved it since he was a kid and Luke taught him all the French words for the legendary turns— _Rascasse!_ he’d snarl, jumping out from behind a stack of tires to scare his mother—and now, as a driver, he appreciates how much concentration it demands. It’s a track that rewards him for daring to brake just a little later, to creep just a little closer to the wall.

*

It also punishes drivers who make the tiniest mistakes, which is why Sunday morning finds Rey wiping clammy palms on her warm-up gear as she stretches out. 

Thanks to yet another visit to Ben’s hotel room last night—she wanted to relax before a stressful race, he texted, she went (and came)—she had a deep, dreamless sleep. It’s only now, when she’s about to put her suit on and climb into the car, that nerves have crept back in.

“Rey? Are you in there?” It sounds like Luke.

“I’m here! Come in!”

“Don’t let me interrupt; I know you’re stretching. I just wanted to stop by and tell you what my father told me and what I always tell our drivers before Monaco.”

Rey looks up from where she’s bent over, working on her hamstrings. “Okay?”

“Are you ready? Here goes. Good luck, kid!”

_Is this a joke?_ “Thanks?”

“It’s more team tradition than good advice,” Luke concedes. “But Leia and I are happy to have you as part of the team. After today and the race in Montreal in a couple weeks, we’re going to start talking about what next year’s team will look like. We’ll probably see what happens when we come back for the European races and make some decisions.”

“I mean, I’d love to drive for you again next year.”

“Let’s get some podiums in the next few races, and we’ll talk,” Luke says. “Today, just focus on finishing. It won’t be an easy race.”

It was nice of Luke to come see her, and the thought of having a seat for another year makes Rey’s chest swell with excitement, like her ribs are suddenly too small. 

Yes, he’d made clear having the seat depends on her getting a podium in the next few races. But she’s always made things happen for herself before. She’s not going to stop now.

But when she’s doing the formation lap, checking in with Rose and centering herself, her mind doesn’t go to Luke’s words. Instead, it slithers back to the night before, to the excitement she felt knocking at Ben’s door, to the certainty that she’d come in his bed. She tries to pretend the butterflies in her stomach are just more of that fluttery anticipation, that the same certainty is there today. _Something good is waiting for you. Go get it._


	6. Why not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blah blah blah racing  
> ANYWAY
> 
> (a heads up that there's a bunch of drinking then sex in this chapter, but everyone is having fun!)

Fourth place _again_ wasn’t in Rey’s wildest dreams, especially since Ben actually won the race, but she’ll take it. She didn’t let the nerves get to her, didn’t scrape the wall, defended against the fifth-place car for the entire race, made it to the finish on the season’s most unforgiving track.

Now she just has to come up with a plan to get on the podium herself.

She stays at the Skywalker team party later than she meant to, but time flies when she’s standing in a corner with Rose, trading ideas for next week’s setup until the ice has melted in their forgotten drinks and all the sponsor reps have left. 

She’s already fantasizing about getting a trophy—picturing that metal in her hand, like she’s done since she was a kid racing go-karts—and it carries her out of the party to the quais on foot when everyone else is calling cars to take them back to the hotel.

Living-room lights wind their way up the hills, the moon is out, the water laps gently at the piers, and...there are probably 50 yachts all pumping out dance music, letting it spill across the harbor.

She feels high on herself. She could board any of them—any of them!—and everyone would whoop and the women would take pictures with her and the men would bring her drinks, or vice versa, it doesn’t matter. Anyone standing on the deck could see her walking by and recognize her and—

“Hey.”

And of course Ben is the one who sees her. Why is he even standing out on the deck? He leans out over the railing, maybe just a little too far, and holds a hand out.

“Join me.”

“What is this? Your team party?”

“It started that way. But you can come too.”

Ugh, fine. _You can come later too_ , her brain supplies, unhelpfully. She steps gingerly up the gangplank, because even if it’s a yacht it can still tip over and she’s wearing heels. He tries to take her by the elbow when she gets to the deck, but she shifts away.

“People will see.”

“People often see, but they do not often _know_ ,” he intones. It’s a line from one of Luke’s weird meditation tapes, and she thinks it might actually be a joke. Or he’s drunk. Both?

He’s right, though. Everyone on this boat is too toasted to know or care. As he leads her through the crowd to the bar, she bumps into a woman, who simply sways and then bursts into giggles, and plunges her heel into the top of a man’s foot, earning a surprised look and an “Ohmygod it’s you! I love you!” as she apologizes.

And why not? They’re all beautiful, they’ve spent the weekend in the sunshine enjoying the race, they’re drinking from an ever-flowing river of booze from the open bar, they’re dancing to a DJ that seems famous—maybe she would know him if she ever left the garage and the factory—and they’re on a boat. A yacht.

“I hope you’ll have some champagne,” Ben says, sloshing some from a bottle he’s conjured from somewhere into a glass and handing it to her. “We’re still toasting to my win.”

As though Rey had forgotten his smug smile atop the podium only hours ago. As though she won’t be picturing it the next time she needs to push through the last, sweatiest laps of a race.

“To your win,” she says, looking into his still-smug eyes as they touch glasses and she slugs the champagne back. She knows she should savor it, can tell it’s the good stuff even as it rushes over her tongue, but instead she holds out her glass for more. “I’ll drink to you all night.”

“I’d rather you did something else to me all night. Maybe you can come up with a few ideas.”

“First, you can refill the lady’s glass,” she says, tugging the champagne bottle out of his hand. “Let me think about it while I drink.”

“Mmm, that’s when I think about it too. And in the shower.”

Rey tells herself it’s just the champagne fizzing away, starting the flush of heat that spreads up from her stomach.

He gets another bottle and leads her toward the dance floor, past a thicket of seven-foot-tall women with the shiniest hair, all grouped around—to her great surprise—the Finn, who’s smiling hugely and holding his hands out as though to measure a fish or—

“His dick,” Ben sighs. “He tells that story at every party.” Laughter ripples through the thicket and the women press in tighter around the Finn.

The First Order crew is in a knot in front of the DJ booth, because of course every yacht has a DJ booth, and they’re all waving glow sticks and shouting wordlessly along with whatever remix is pounding through the speakers.

“Look who I found wandering the docks,” Ben shouts, and they all turn and see her and shout HEYYYY. Armie, flushed and grinning, scoots over to make room for her in their dance circle and hands her one of his glow sticks.

“Thanks!” she yells. “I’m surprised you’re not working! Fixing his fuck-ups!” 

Armie shrugs. “He’s not so bad. Keeps me on my toes.”

“Oh yeah! I heard you went running! In the morning!”

Armie flushes so deeply red that she thinks the DJ has switched on a light show.

“Uh, yeah! It’s good! Rose and I run about the same pace.”

“That’s cool, man!” He’s so embarrassed that she drops it and lets him keep dancing. She can’t tell Rose, because then she’d have to explain where they had this conversation and how she even ended up at this party. But she notes Armie’s enthusiasm and files it away for later.

By the next song—or is it several remixes later, they all wind into each other, one endless cosmic song connecting them all, it’s so beautiful to look at the bobbing sea of their sweaty faces—the champagne bottle weighs nothing and every time Ben flicks his eyes across her face, watching her but hiding it, she feels it fizz in her stomach a little more, the heat rising as the bass pounds down, down to her cunt.

Rey almost tells him she’s going to get some air in front of the crew, but catches herself just in time and slips out silently to lean against the railing, pressing her forehead to the cool brass.

“It’s you!” someone says to her left, and the railing shivers as he laughs. It’s the Finn, and even though he’s standing by himself, smoking a cigarette, his face is completely open as he turns to her, like he’s in the middle of telling another amazing story about his fish or his dick.

“I want to talk to you,” he says thickly, and then it’s clear. He, like everyone else at this party, is utterly sozzled. “I’ve got to talk to you. I know what to do! You have to come see me. Both of you. Have to.”

“Sure,” she says, because _why not_. “When?”

“This winter! In Finland. We’re gonna go skiing. I love skiing,” he adds, his tone turning confidential. “We’ll go skiing, and we’re gonna go for a drive in the forest in the snow, and we’re gonna do a sauna. But you can hit him with the branches. You can.” He raises his palms in a hands-off way.

“Okay. Wait, who am I hitting with branches?”

He laughs. “You know who. You both have to come. I’ll bring...someone.” He gestures over his shoulder, presumably to the women waiting for him. “And, meantime,” he says, lowering his voice and leaning in, bringing her into a cloud of cigarette smoke and vodka fumes, “maybe you will fuck him harder? Distract him. So I can win a few races too.” He nods and winks.

Fuck. Fuck! Is she really this horrible at hiding it? She’s been so careful about sneaking around the hotels. But the Finn keeps smiling at her and the worry passes, floating away on the champagne. This is the most he’s ever spoken—maybe to anyone—and she thinks he might actually be kind of fun.

“I’ll, uh, do my best.”

“Plotting against me out here?” She jumps as the sound of Ben’s voice buzzes against the base of her spine.

“Yes, I have a very good strategy. But now that we have decided that I’ll win the championship, I will take Ludivine to bed,” the Finn explains confidently.

“You already did. In Shanghai.”

The Finn’s face falls a little. “No! How do you know that?”

“I do listen to you.”

“Then who’s the woman I’ve been talking to all night?”

Ben shrugs. “How should I know?”

“Shit.” The Finn flicks his cigarette overboard and wanders back inside.

*

Somehow they get off the yacht, back to the hotel, and into the elevator, where they carefully stand next to each other in case someone else boards. Ben hesitates and looks at her, lifting his eyebrows, and she realizes he doesn’t know which floor she’s on. The champagne whispers to her again, _why not_ , and she pushes the button for his floor.

Back in his room, which she left less than 24 hours ago, he pulls her closer so he can run his hands up and down her sides as he starts kissing her, softly at first, just little whispers of his lips across her cheek, her hair, her neck. Rey cranes her head up—okay, good thing she wore the heels—to skim her mouth along the hard line of his jaw, starting at his ear and ending at his soft mouth. 

Their lips meet and cling, and she sighs into him as she tastes champagne on his tongue, bringing her hands to his ass and letting her palms trail over his hips, across his stomach, up his chest. She starts unbuttoning his shirt and his hands get needier, cupping her ass to bring her closer, rubbing the fabric of her dress slowly across her breasts, sliding his fingers along either side of each nipple, then stroking them gently with his thumbs. She knows that by the time she tugs his shirt out of his pants to undo the last buttons, her fingers will graze the tip of his cock, slowly swelling against her hip. She can feel his heartbeat and thinks of each pump making him thicker, harder, and groans into his lips.

“I want you,” she says.

“Then take off your clothes.” Now he turns bossy again? Her cunt throbs in...annoyance, probably.

“I will, but I want you to take off _your_ clothes. I already did most of the work for you,” she insists, pushing his shirt open. She slips off her heels and unzips her dress, pushing the straps down and shimmying out of it as she walks to the bed and lies back. He starts to follow and she holds up a hand.

“Get naked and get a condom, and then you can come over here.” 

He sighs, but he does it.

Ben keeps his eyes on her, dark and wide, as he unties his shoes, shrugs off his suit jacket, undoes his belt. Rey tugs her underwear off and wriggles her head into the pillows, feeling the crisp sheets against her bare skin. She remembers the heat of his gaze as it darted to her earlier tonight and basks in it, bringing one hand down to circle her clit and the other up to brush her nipples, letting the warmth flow from her core across her whole body. She looks back at him as he slides his pants over the muscles of his thighs and pulls his underwear over the angle of his erection.

It’s nice to watch him. It’s nice to lie on this cloud of a bed and take him in. Her clit perks up at the thought of taking him in, taking all of him in, and she giggles.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks. “I am.”

He’s got the condom from the nightstand now, so she reaches out and pulls him by his cock to the bed.

“I am too,” she says. “And now I want to see you up close.”

He kneels over her, reaching back to take over the rubbing at her clit, setting a steady pace. It’s slower than they usually go, and without the thought of the race tugging at her nerves, she can relax into it. 

It makes her a little bit lazy as she plays with him, tonguing the thick base of his cock and stretching to wet the sides up to the tip. It’s not the best angle—she’ll never be able to get all of him into her mouth—but he doesn’t seem to mind, groaning as she slicks his skin with spit, hands sliding along in the wake of her tongue. The feel of him bumping against her nose— _hot, heavy_ is all her brain can supply—makes her cunt ache to be filled.

When the champagne fizz in her blood starts to bubble faster, she rolls the condom over him and shifts further up the bed, leading him by the cock to where she wants him. He sinks into her with a warm, wet noise and they both giggle.

“God, you’re so tight and so wet for me.” He starts to move, hips flexing steadily, pressing his weight into her, and she starts rubbing herself again.

“God, you’re so big and so hard.” Is the champagne making her silly? She doesn’t care, not when everything they say gives her a thrill and makes him twitch.

“And you love it. You can’t get enough of my cock in that tight, wet cunt. Good thing I’m here to give it to you.”

“Yes, yes, Ben, I love it.” She’s breathing harder now, babbling. “Give me more, I want to come on your cock.” 

As soon as she says it, she realizes her orgasm is bubbling up, up, and she takes another breath and another thrust and there, the bubble pops and the pleasure washes over her. He fucks her through it as she moans, not breaking his pace, just giving her that smug smile as her toes uncurl.

“You know what I want now?” _To wipe that smile off your face_.

“For me to keep fucking you all night? I can, you know.”

“No. I want you to come on my tits.” She smiles and arches her back, tracing her nipples for his benefit. “I know you want to.”

That does it. His eyes get even wider and his mouth presses into a determined line as he picks up the pace.

“You want that? You want me to cover those tits? Fuck, I’m fucking close.” He can barely get the words out.

“Do it. Soak me. I want you to think about this every time you spray the champagne.”

And then he’s out of her, tossing the condom away, spurting hot and wet over the planes of her stomach and the mounds of her breasts. He holds himself above her for a few moments, watching her rub his semen into her taut skin, then collapses beside her, one arm slung over her hips.

“Rey?” he says, after a minute in silence. “You can stay a little, if you want. Since we don’t have to get up and race tomorrow.”

“Mmm. Okay.” She rolls toward him and puts an arm across his hip. It’s so warm and she’s so sleepy now.

Why not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> raise your hand if you want to go to monaco and dance on this yacht so bad. or really go anywhere besides your apartment.


	7. Overtake is available

There must be 50 people waiting in the paddock in Montreal, all of them waving something for Rey to sign, most of them yelling her name. But her eyes go to a little girl who’s just looking at her, mouth hanging open like she can’t quite believe Rey is real.

“I’m Rey,” she says, walking up and taking out her permanent marker. “Can I sign something for you?”

The girl silently holds out a poster with a graphic of the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, where they’ll race this weekend, and photos of Rey and Poe in their uniforms. As painful as the photo shoot was, Rey has to admit that Maz did a good job.

“Are you coming to watch the race?” The girl nods but doesn’t say anything.

“Do you have any questions you want to ask me?” Rey isn’t sure how to get her to talk. She scribbles her name and car number on the poster and hands it back.

The girl examines the signature. Finally, she looks back at Rey and pipes up, “Why don’t you win more? Or at all?”

Ouch. Leave it to this kid to ask a tougher question than the journalists on the motorsport beat. “It’s only my first year driving this car. Sometimes the things you want don’t happen right away, but you just have to keep working for them.”

The girl nods. “I want you to win. My dad wants Ben Solo to win. But I don’t like Ben. He’s mean.”

_Is he, though? Or just competitive?_ Rey thinks of his low voice asking her to stay the night in Monaco. _Okay, abort that thought in front of this innocent child._ “He just drives fast. Guess what, though?”

“What?”

Rey bends down like she’s going to tell the girl a secret. “I can drive even faster.”

The girl’s face breaks into a huge grin. “I knew it! I’m going to tell my dad.”

*

Rey’s not going to win. She might, however, get third place—which would mean a podium—if she can pass the Finn on the last lap. What makes it tricky is that the best place to pass is right before the finish line.

She radios Rose after turn 2 so they can strategize. “I want a podium.”

“Copy that. You have overtake mode available.”

The channel goes quiet for a moment, then Rose returns. “The data shows you are faster in the hairpin. Not the final chicane.”

“Understood.”

“Get it done.”

Normally Rose leaves her alone to work, but today the radio hisses again when Rey’s almost to the hairpin.

“Poe’s tires have gone off.”

That’s not helpful. “Rose, I can’t talk! I’m almost at turn 10!”

“You could get P2.”

Rey barely even hears her. “Not if I don’t pass the fucking Finn!”

Rose says something else, but Rey ignores her, focusing completely on the Finn’s rear wing, which has been weaving just in front of her the entire lap. He brakes and it looms tantalizingly close. She waits just a fraction of a second longer before braking herself and catches up.

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye—he must have locked up one of his wheels and wobbled—and her reflexes kick in. She slings the car around the apex, scooting past him, and gets back on the power, roaring toward the straight. The final chicane is at the end of it, and if she stays out of the wall, she’ll be in third.

At first she thinks it’s a mirage; the tracks get quite hot, baking in the sun, and the rubber that comes off the tires over the weekend sometimes glimmers in strange ways. But no, it’s another car at the end of the straight, and she’s swooping down on it. She realizes Rose is talking to her again, telling her Poe’s tires are completely dead.

“I’m going to pass him in the chicane,” Rey says, understanding what Rose was trying to tell her at last.

“Overtake is available,” Rose repeats, then adds, “Get him.” _Jesus, that’s terrifying. Okay._

Poe must see her in his mirrors, her front wing getting larger and larger, but it’s clear he can’t do anything about it. When he brakes at the end of the straight to turn into the chicane, the tires give up and he has to cut the corner to keep from spinning out. 

Rey takes the chicane smoothly, avoiding the wall that’s waiting to scoop up cars at the very last corner, and flies toward the checkered flag.

*

She’s dreamed of this for years. She thought about it the first time she saw a Formula One race on TV. The first time she drove a go-kart. All those days when she practiced in the perpetual cold and wet at her local karting track, rain streaming off her visor. All those nights before races on lumpy beds in weird B&Bs her parents booked because it’s what they could afford.

So it doesn’t quite feel real when her feet carry her out to the podium, when the crowd yells and surges forward at the sight of her, when some Montreal official hands her a trophy she can barely grip in her sweaty hands, when the Finn and Ben spray her with champagne until she sputters. She’s pretty sure she can hear Rose shouting from the cluster of Skywalker mechanics right below the platform, and for whatever reason that’s what makes Rey’s heart swell and her eyes well up.

“Don’t wipe your eyes if you’ve got champagne on your hands,” Ben says from behind her as a clutch of white-shirted officials herds them off the podium. She hadn’t even noticed him watching her. “Take it from a winner.”

“Shut up, Solo,” she says, and cries even harder.

*

Her phone buzzes when she gets back to her dressing room to change out of her champagne-soaked suit.

**Ben:** come over tonight

**Rey:** again?  
i can’t

**Ben:** i see  
you don’t have to  
if you don’t want to

**Rey:** no i mean i can’t  
my flight leaves tonight  
filming at the factory tomorrow  
some commercial?

**Ben:** of course  
oh well  
maybe the finn wants to go out

She scoffs. _Like anyone you meet in a bar is going to compare to me_ , she thinks. It’s not that she’s possessive or thinks Ben is her boyfriend just because they’ve slept together. It’s just that sex with someone else would be like driving a go-kart instead of an F1 car.

**Rey:** sure  
say hi to your hand for me

**Ben:** safe flight  
see you in france

*

“Rey, you’ll be heading out first,” Rose says in her ear at qualifying in France.

“What? It’s Poe’s turn to go first. I gave him a tow last time.”

“I know. Orders from higher up.”

Rey does it, but she doesn’t like it. Going first means your car is the one punching a hole in the air; staying close behind your teammate in qualifying means you can gain an advantage by being in their wake. Which is why she and Poe have been switching off leading this season.

With her help, he qualifies third, while she’s back in fifth, fuming on the radio while Rose tries to calm her down.

“My hero!” Poe cries as they’re heading to the team debrief. “Thanks for going first, teammate. You’re the best.” He gives her his brightest, crinkliest, most tousle-haired grin.

“No problem. Just give me the tow next weekend.”

“Yeah, definitely. I just asked Luke if I could go second this time because I’m usually so good on this track. I really feel like we’re clicking as a team, you know?”

She gives him the high-five he wants, but she’s mad for the rest of the afternoon and takes it out on Ben that night, ordering him to lie still while she pins his shoulders down and rides him to both of their climaxes.

It makes it that much sweeter when she passes Poe on the track in the race and gets third.

* 

A week later, in Austria, she knocks at room 1012 like his text says. But instead of Ben, all dark hair and broad shoulders, it’s an apple-cheeked blond man who opens the door.

“Yes?” he says uncertainly but, Rey notices, hopefully. Her mouth works a few times as she tries to think of any reason she might be here or, better yet, any magic words that would make the floor open beneath her.

“Wrong room. I’m sorry,” she croaks, and speed-walks back to the elevator.

Back in her own room, she gets out her phone.

**Rey:** room 1012 has an austrian in it

**Ben:** oh shit  
where are you

**Rey:** back in my room  
hiding

**Ben:** no which hotel  
i’m at the landhotel

She checks the robe—no name stitched there—and has to root through the desk to find the hotel info booklet.

**Rey:** fuck i’m at the schlossl  
i can’t go all the way there and back

**Ben:** ok  
sorry  
i didn’t think we’d be at different hotels

**Rey:** room 1012 didn’t mind  
i have another idea  
put on your uniform  
and call me

**Ben:** ok  
i will  
but you should be naked when you answer

She is. She’s lying back with her legs crossed at the ankles, trying to look alluring, like a painting she saw at a museum in Paris when her parents took her for a visit after one of her races in France—just for a day as a treat. 

Seeing the way their eyes boggled at the art made teenage Rey realize that maybe traipsing around from track to track wasn’t _really_ what her parents wanted to be doing with their time and money. Seeing the art for herself made teenage Rey want to run her fingers along the six-packs carved out of marble.

She picks up the video call. Ben’s sitting at the desk in his room—he must have called from his laptop—wearing the suit that covers him from neck to ankle and the helmet that covers his face and hair. He’s flipped the visor down so she can’t see his eyes. He’s even put on his gloves.

“What now?” His voice sounds deeper, muffled by the helmet.

She swallows. _No one is going to guess what you want. You have to say it._ “I want you to strip and then jerk off. But leave the helmet on.”

“Mmm. Kinky,” Ben says.

She can’t see his expression and she falters. “Is that okay?”

“I’m going to give you exactly what you need.” He sounds confident but distracted, leaning closer to the screen. A menu pops up—she can see the reflection in his visor—and he clicks on a playlist. It starts with Rihanna singing “Shut Up and Drive.” A song she actually knows from the days when she spent time outside hotel rooms and the factory.

“While I’m doing that,” he continues, “I want you to spread those legs and put on a little show for me too.”

He stands and pushes the chair to the side, then starts shaking out each limb, loosening up, getting into the beat. He picks up the rhythm with his hips, popping them suggestively, and runs his hands up his body to the velcro that secures his suit around his neck.

He pauses. “Start touching yourself if you want to see more.”

Rey gets her fingers circling her clit. She didn’t think he’d get into it so fast. It’s a little trippy to think that she can just ask for whatever she wants and he’ll do it.

He nods and rips the velcro open, still swiveling his hips. “Knees wider.”

She drops them to the sheets and dips her fingers into her wetness. Does the camera pick up how they shine? She licks them to make sure he gets the picture. “Stop dicking around.”

“Dicking is the whole point, Rey.” He pulls off his gloves, tugging each fingertip to draw it out, and tosses them aside, then unzips his suit, revealing the edge of his chest. He’s not wearing anything underneath.

“I’m doing what you asked.” She’s a little breathless now.

“True.” Finally the zipper comes all the way down, exposing the wiry hair that starts below his navel, and he shimmies his shoulders out of the sleeves. He flexes his pecs one at a time—if this is so cheesy, why is she getting even wetter—and pulls the chair in front with one hand while pulling the suit down with the other. He starts fisting himself, letting her see his forearm flex, how far his hand has to travel, even though his cock is hidden by the back of the chair.

“I’m getting close. Let me see you,” she tries to order, but she’s panting and it doesn’t quite come out firm.

Instead of answering, he turns around and sits in the chair facing away, still moving his shoulders to the beat, still moving his hand to a loose tempo. When she whimpers he finally spins the chair so he’s facing her, thighs taut on either side of his straining cock.

“Make yourself come,” Ben tells her from beneath the helmet, his expression still hidden and his voice low. She makes her fingers go harder in response. The mic must pick up the wet sounds she’s making, because he stops dancing completely and leans against the back of the chair, working his own hand with abandon.

His groan rumbles through her speaker as he comes, the helmet sliding up to reveal the white of his throat as he tips his head back and loses himself in pleasure. Rey sees him spurting over his own chest and remembers how it felt splashing warm over her and she’s at the peak, toes curling, back bowing off the bed, cries sounding over Rihanna singing about a ride that’s smoother than a limousine.

The beat fades as he turns the music down and takes the helmet off, pushing sweat-tipped strands of hair off his face.

“I hope you think of this the next time you put your helmet on,” Rey teases.

“I’m sure you’ll be thinking of it the next time you see me with the helmet on,” he retorts.

“We’ll see. I think of lots of other things besides sex.”

“You do? Maybe if you thought more about racing you’d win every once in a while.”

“Oh please. I got a podium in Canada, I got a podium in France, and I’ll get one tomorrow, too.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “We’ll see.”

“We’ll see in—fuck, I need to be at the garage in 10 hours.”

“Sweet dreams.” He disconnects. She turns out the light and sighs contentedly into her pillows.

*

Then it’s the middle of July, nearly halfway through the season, and they’re lining up on the grid at Silverstone, Rey’s home race. Sunday is Pimm’s weather, bright and summery and hot, which is great for the fans but means they’ll be miserable in the cars, sitting in front of the roaring engines while the sun roasts them in their layers of fireproof clothing.

Still, Ben’s fresh off a night with Rey—though she might not be so fresh; she’d wanted him to bend her over the bathroom counter but got impatient and pulled him down to the hard tile floor—and a stellar qualifying session that’s put him on pole.

He’s putting in his laps out in front, trying to stay focused and hold on to his lead rather than extend it, when something changes in the air. When he passes the grandstands, everyone’s face is turned to look at something behind him.

“Was there an incident behind me?” he asks his engineer.

“Negative.”

Huh. “Who’s P2 then?”

“It’s one of the Skywalker cars. We’re just checking which.”

“They passed the Finn? I thought he was P2.”

“Affirmative. He is now P3.”

Interesting. Someone’s decided to make a move.

Ben makes a late call for his pit stop and practically swerves in, trying to catch whoever’s behind him off guard. But they follow, to his surprise, and he can’t manage to see which car it is before he has to pull into his slot for a tire change. Pulling out, he jolts in his seat when he catches sight of it in his mirrors. Whoever it is, they’re nipping at his heels.

“How are they so close?”

His engineer clears his throat. “They did a very quick pit stop.”

Ben steers out of the pit lane and practically stomps on the throttle, wanting to get ahead before the series of turns coming up so he can pull even farther away once they get to the straight. It seems like they can read his mind, though, matching him move for move and sticking to his rear wing. He can’t shake them until the last straight of the lap, and even then he only gains fractions of a second.

It’s got to be Rey. Dameron never had the patience to chase Ben down. Instead of waiting lap after lap, ready to pounce as soon as Ben made a mistake, Poe always preferred heroics, getting deep into a turn before braking to see if he could pass by sheer moxie.

His engineer comes back. “Watch the track limits at turn 6.”

“Why?” Ben demands.

“Race control has given us a warning about going over.”

“Every other car is doing it!”

“Just keep your wheels inside the white line.”

“For fuck’s sake, why can’t they just let us race? I’m not driving across the lawn, am I?”

“Keep your head down and push. You still have 15 laps to go.”

Ben flicks his eyes to his mirrors. He’s not sure he can defend that long. _Are you actually getting flustered?_ he thinks. _Stop thinking about her and fucking drive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweating because it's 30 degrees out: [drake no thanks]  
> Sweating through writing this striptease: [drake thumbs up]
> 
> Poor Rey, having to give Poe the tow, BUT remember the Italian Grand Prix in 2019 when almost the entire field dawdled around waiting for someone else to give them a tow and [didn’t set a time in qualifying](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXGTLj2cw3w)? OOPS


	8. i'm celebrating

Rey crosses the line three seconds after Ben, sweaty and worn out, wanting nothing more than to wriggle out of her suit and flop onto an ice floe.

“Thanks for a great race, team,” she calls over the radio. “You guys were amazing. We left it all on the track.”

“Hang on, Rey, Leia’s just speaking with the stewards.” Rose’s voice is brimming with what sounds like anticipation, but she doesn’t say anything else, which is odd.

Rey shrugs it off and starts her cooldown lap, waving to the fans and watching them jump up and down with their flags. There’s a whole group wearing masks with her face printed on them—cool in theory, creepy in real life—and a guy who’s photoshopped her into a poster-sized wedding photo, possibly with himself? Best to just drive away from that one.

The radio comes to life again. “Rey, it’s Rose. Leia’s going to come on in a minute, but first, I have some good news. Ben’s been given a five-second penalty.”

“What? Why?” She’s too tired from driving in the heat to see what Rose is getting at.

“Exceeding track limits, but who cares! Five seconds! You’re going to be classified first!”

“What?”

“Oh for god’s sake, is the radio broken?” Leia takes over. “You won!”

Rey laughs in disbelief. “Holy shit!” she screams. “I mean, sorry! Sorry for swearing!” _Come on. They’re going to play all these radio messages on TV._

“Congratulations,” Leia says, laughing a little. She’s won tons of races as team principal, and this is just another day at the office instead of suddenly, miraculously, the best day of her entire life like it is for Rey. “That was a fantastic drive. The whole team is really proud of you.”

“Thank you! Oh my god, thank you, everyone!” _Say something better for the broadcast._ “The car has been so great the past few races, and it just really came together today. I love this track, and it’s my home race, and my parents are here—” Tears flood her visor.

“We’ll talk more after you park the car, okay?” Rose rescues her before she turns into a blubbering mess.

Everything blurs when she gets out of the car—tossing her helmet and balaclava aside, the Finn slapping her on the back, Rose elbowing her way to the front of the throng of Skywalker mechanics and trying to simultaneously hug Rey and lift her like a pairs skater, talking nonsense about England into the mic someone holds in front of her face during the post-race interview.

The officials practically have to drag her to the cooldown room, where she’s meant to drink some water and towel off before the podium ceremony so she looks presentable when she gets her trophy and champagne. 

But first she has to figure out what to say to Ben. _Sorry you drove off the track to try to keep me from passing you and got a penalty. Sorry you made a mistake and the stewards caught you and now you’re in second place._

Except she’s not sorry at all. She’s not even disappointed that she only won because he got a penalty, not because she passed him on track. _That’s racing! Get wrecked, Solo!_

“Congratulations,” Ben says in what sounds like a grumpy voice, coming up behind her and reaching past her for a water bottle. “You should feel very proud of winning on a technicality.”

He is not going to rain on Rey’s parade. “I pushed you into making a mistake. Stay on the track next time, and you won’t get a penalty. It’s not that hard, you just follow the big white lines.”

“Next time I’ll be too far ahead to worry about you passing me,” he says, swigging from the bottle and shrugging.

“Next time I’ll qualify on pole so you’ll have to pass me to win,” she fires back. The Finn very carefully keeps his eyes on his hands as he towels them off, clearly trying to pretend he can’t hear them arguing.

“We’re ready for you now,” one of the officials says, motioning to the doorway. They follow him out, first the Finn, then Ben, then Rey.

“Don’t be mad and spoil this for me,” she half-whispers to Ben, trying to keep up with his strides.

He turns and gives her a look. It’s heated, but not with anger. “I’m not mad.”

Since one of the Skywalker drivers won the race, the team gets to send someone up to collect the constructors’ trophy. So when they get to the hallway behind the podium area, Rose is there, looking nervous.

Rey gives her a thumbs-up. 

If she thought the crowd was intense in Montreal, it’s deafening here at Silverstone. The barriers nearly topple as people surge toward the stage when she walks out and waves. They chant her name. They sing along when “God Save the Queen” is played. It’s amazing to her that the fans are on her side. That anybody else cares whether her dreams come true, because for a long time, nobody in the racing world did, let alone in the real world. Just her and her parents.

It’s good to have Rose up here with her along with Ben and the Finn, who are only smiling because they’re on TV, not because they’re thrilled with second and third place. Rose cares. She might want Rey to win even more than Rey does herself sometimes.

Rose is certainly very excited about the champagne. She sprays it at the drivers, then upends the bottle over herself, head tipped back. She goes to the railing and dumps it over the crowd; Rey follows Rose’s eyes to the group of First Order mechanics and Armie, who’s clapping wildly. _Very interesting._ Then Rey catches a faceful of bubbly and shrieks and Rose is chest-bumping her and hugging her and jumping up and down. 

Time only speeds up as the rest of the day unfolds: tearing up when she sees her parents, their faces shining with pride, tearing up when the mechanics line up and slap her on the back, when Luke and Leia shake her hand, when Rose toasts her at their team dinner, when their sponsor reps congratulate her over cocktails in the hospitality suite. Finally they’re at a pub and she’s too drunk to cry, and Poe gets them to play “We Are the Champions” and they all shout the words in a circle with Rey at the center.

*

Oh god. Bright light. Jeans still on. Mouth parched. Rey rolls over and the clock on the hotel nightstand says noon. She groans and checks her phone.

**Rey:** hi  
ben  
hi  
i know ytrie mad  
btu i am so happyyyy  
im at thedcs puv  
pub  
look

Below that is a photo mostly of her fingers, pulling her bra back with one hand. The other must have been stuck under her shirt holding the phone.

When did she even send those texts? Oh right, when she went to the bathroom, sitting on the toilet and giggling to herself. She wanted a moment alone to think about him because the drinks had made her a) drunk and b) thirsty.

**Ben:** im not mad  
i love yr tits

**Ben:** dont come over  
i’m not here  
i’m celebrating

**Ben:** fuck im ssrimk  
oops  
drunk

Okay. Ideally she wouldn’t have drunk-texted him in the first place or sent the world’s worst half-nude photo, but that could have been so much more embarrassing. She deletes the down-shirt from her camera roll, gingerly lifts herself to sitting, and shuffles to the bathroom for a glass of water.

When she gets back there’s a new text. She peels off her jeans and props the phone on the pillow so she can look at it with one eye.

**Rose:** we’re famous now  
ok a meme

There’s a link that takes Rey to a video called “Team Bromance: Rey + Rose Top 10.” “The Time of My Life” plays over a montage of photos and race footage. Instead of the _Dirty Dancing_ lift, the song climaxes over a clip of Rey jumping into Rose’s arms after yesterday’s race while Rose tries to hoist her by the hips.

**Rey:** ilu  
nobody puts baby in p2  
where did you find this  
it’s not on the official channel

There’s a long pause as Rose types. Rey opens her other eye.

**Rose:** a friend sent it to me  
they work in pr

Who does Rose know that works in PR? A notion pierces the fog in Rey's brain. She frowns and dials to try to put Rose on the spot.

“Did Armie send that to you? I saw him looking at you on the podium.”

“Maybe,” Rose squeaks.

“Have you been doing more than running together? Have you been texting? Flirting?”

“Um,” Rose says. Her voice gets quieter. “All of those things? We’ve just been hanging out.”

“Why are you talking so quietly?” As soon as Rey asks, she knows. “Oh my god, he’s there right now. I would scream but my head hurts. I’m screaming inside. What’s happening?”

“He’s in the shower,” Rose whispers. “Then we’re going to brunch.”

“The shower? Did you do something to make him unclean?”

“Sex is not dirty,” Rose hisses. “Besides, I was inspired by you and your data collection. Which I know you’re still doing, by the way. I can see you smiling when Poe’s talking about changing the engine in team meetings and you start daydreaming.”

“Whatever. I’m driving well.”

“And I’m engineering well. Shit, the shower just stopped, I gotta go.”

Rey rolls onto her back and sends one more text.

**Rey:** ask armie how his night went

She goes back to sleep before Ben replies.

*

Only two weeks pass between Rey’s win in Silverstone and the next race in Germany, but something’s changed in the Skywalker garage. Poe rushes through his feedback at the team debriefs, Leia wraps them up faster than usual, and then the two of them huddle for another half-hour over coffee in the hospitality suite or in Leia’s office.

The timing is suspicious. Poe seemed thrilled for Rey's win, hugging her and bringing her at least three rounds once they made it to the pub. But she knows that every time she does better than him in a race, it makes her more of a threat.

Their last team meeting after the race in Germany should be a quick one. There’s only the one race in Hungary left before the mid-season break, and everyone’s restless, ready to either fly home to make sure their toddlers recognize their faces or toast themselves on a beach somewhere.

Just as Leia’s wrapping up, though, Poe catches her eye. Leia pauses, sighs, gives him a nod.

“So, one more thing Leia and I have been talking about,” he begins. “I know the engineering team wasn’t going to release the engine upgrades until after the break. But I think we should try them out next week in Hungary. Give First Order a little surprise.”

That’s a terrible idea. The factory will have to work around the clock to get the upgraded parts ready ahead of schedule and ship them to Hungary, and the mechanics will have to work just as hard to install them on time. Morale is high because they’ve been racing well, but this is a surefire way to kill it.

“Why not just wait until after the break?” Rey asks. “Give the team time to finish them.”

“Come on, Rey, have a little faith! I know you’ve only been with us for half a season, so trust me, I’ve seen this team work miracles. Tell you what,” he continues, “if you don’t want the upgrades, we’ll install them on my car first and test them.”

“Of course I want the upgrades,” she snaps. “I’m just not sure why we’re changing the schedule all of a sudden.”

“Like I said, it’s something Leia and I have discussed,” he says smoothly. “It’ll just be a couple races where we prioritize my car and then analyze the data so we can see what the next steps are. For the good of the team.”

So he and Leia have already decided to give Poe the upgrades first, and only Poe. Rey suddenly realizes what he’s done. If his car has the upgrades, he’ll get the better strategy, priority in pit stops. 

Poe has talked Leia into making him the number-one driver and Rey the number-two driver for the next few races, even though Rey’s been placing higher than him.

She can’t argue in front of everyone, especially if this is what Leia has agreed to. “Sure,” Rey says through a clenched jaw. “I guess we’ll see what the data says.”

“I’ll be in touch with the engineering team about an updated schedule for this week,” Leia says briskly. “Thanks, everyone.” They’re dismissed.

Rey wants to kick herself. She’d been so focused on beating Ben that she’d almost forgotten to watch her back around Poe. Which is probably what he was aiming for with his chummy hey-teammate routine.

It was one thing for Poe to have to compete against Ben, another experienced driver and the team principal’s son. It’s another thing for him to be challenged so seriously by a rookie driver. And apparently instead of inspiring him to drive better, it makes him run to the bosses. At least Ben is open about wanting to beat her.

Rose catches up to Rey as they’re walking out of the meeting and nudges her hip to get Rey’s attention. She doesn’t say anything, just rolls her eyes and makes a jerk-off gesture.

Rey sighs. It actually does feel better to know Rose is on her side.

* 

“I just threatened to slap that reporter,” Ben says as they’re leaving the press pen in Germany. “I told him his writing is shit and his magazine is hot garbage.”

“Good job.” Armie doesn’t even look up from his phone.

Ben sighs. “I know you’re not listening. What’s up?”

Armie ignores him. His phone buzzes and he looks at the message, grins, and immediately types a reply.

Ben grabs the phone before Armie can put it away and reads aloud from the screen. “You say, winking face. Flower emoji says, ‘I had so much fun on our run this morning. I can’t wait to see you next weekend.’ You reply, ‘Me too! I’ll call you tonight X O.’ Well, well, well.”

“Okay, ha ha, I’m sure there’s nothing embarrassing in your texts,” Armie says, reaching for his phone. “Give it back.”

“What are your intentions toward this woman?” Ben holds it just out of reach.

“We’ve just been going for runs. It’s good to have an exercise buddy to hold you accountable.”

“Hmm. You haven’t been doing any...cross-training?”

Armie flushes. “Just once. She, ah, messaged from the pub after Silverstone.”

Ben hands the phone back, willing himself not to think about the messages he’d received from the same pub at the same time. “And you responded, like a gentleman does when a lady texts in urgent need of—”

“You know what, you can make fun all you want. It’s lonely having to travel so much and it’s nice to have someone who understands. We might even see each other over the break.” 

The phone buzzes again, but this time Armie frowns. “Shit. Go on without me. Someone just tweeted that the Finn might leave the team after this season. Probably just a rumor, but I should go back and check it out.”

*

“I should go,” Rey says with a sigh. “It’s going to be a tough one tomorrow. The team killed themselves just so Poe could have the upgrades before the break instead of after.”

“And he used his charm to convince everyone to do it even though it was a bad idea? That sounds like him.” Ben holds the condom in place so she can climb off his lap. Instead of going for her clothes like she usually does, she sprawls on the pull-out sofa next to him.

“It’s like this every season, right? I’m so tired and we’re only in Hungary. Only halfway done.” She puts her feet on the coffee table and points her toes, stretching. “I can’t wait for this break.”

He hums in agreement while he throws the condom away, then comes back to sit by her, curious. They never talk about anything real afterwards. Either she leaves or she stays and they fall asleep right away. They haven’t even mentioned their drunk texts—or their perfectly executed plan to get Rose and Armie together—out loud.

“What are you doing?”

She pulls her feet up and shakes her head. “Of course. I’ll go. You heard about our team drama, you know I’m tired, and now you can exploit that weakness. I’ll get dressed.”

For once he didn’t actually mean to needle her. “I meant, what are you doing over the break?”

“Oh. Hanging out in my apartment?” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll probably go visit my parents, see if I can fix their car. Or convince them to let me buy them a new one, now that I have money.”

“Sounds nice.” Ben has never fixed a car—that was the mechanics’ job—but it always seemed like his dad was in a better mood when he came in from the garage, wiping the grease from his latest restoration project off his hands.

She scoffs. “It’s not very jet-set racing driver. Let me guess, you’re spending the break in Bali at an international supermodels’ convention. No? Okay, you’re spending the break shooting pheasant in Scotland at some aristocrat’s estate. Or whatever you hunt there.”

“You’re getting warmer.”

She does her thinking frown—probably the same face she makes when she’s in the car hunting him down—and he feels that twist of competitive spirit in his belly. “Okay. You’re going to a villa in Italy and it will be gloriously sunny. You’ll eat pastries and pasta and drink wine and go skinny-dipping in a cove somewhere.”

Ben looks at that little line on her forehead, her long limbs draped around his hotel room. He thinks about what Armie said. _It’s lonely having to travel so much. It’s nice to have someone who understands._

“That’s right,” he says. “Come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drives up, honks*  
> get in we're going to italy


	9. Can we make a deal?

Rey’s on the beach, basking in the sun. Someone's putting sunscreen on her hip, reaching under her swimsuit, rubbing it in—

“Wake up. We’re about to land,” Ben says, patting her hip. “Can we make a deal? If you don’t argue with me about driving, you can come first when we get to the house.”

“You’re on.” She yawns and sticks out her hand for him to shake. “I don’t need to argue. I don’t want to drive the shitty rental car.”

He shakes her hand—there's still that zing every time their palms touch—and smiles.

*

She should have guessed. The sleek black town car that picked her up, the airport lounge stocked with free croissants that were way better than the ones in the hospitality suite, and the private jet? All that should have clued her in. 

There’s no shitty rental car, and she desperately wants to drive the incredibly sexy little coupe that’s waiting for them on the tarmac, its glossy red flanks curving out suggestively, its come-hither chrome glinting in the sun.

Ben knows. He watches her look at it, sees her pat the trim when they put their suitcases in the tiny trunk. When she opens her mouth, he holds up a finger. “Don’t we have a deal?”

She sighs and silently takes the passenger seat.

What’s worse is that he drives it the way Rey would, taking it slow and smooth through the industrial suburbs around the airport, then opening the engine up once they’re out on country roads. On the track you can push the limits; on the road there are other people to think of.

He doesn’t ask Rey to pull up directions and barely glances at the road signs. Instead, when they’re purring along in the highest gear, he reaches across and lays a hand on her thigh. At first he just rests it there. Then it gets restless, tracing the inner seam of her leggings from her knee to her apex, where she might already be a little wet from watching him drive.

This is what she’d dreamed of when she agreed to spend the break with Ben: two weeks of uncomplicated sex, with interludes to eat good food and drink good wine. No teams, no teammates, no pressure, no race the next day. No need for deep conversations or technical briefings. Just time for him to make her come again and again until her mind is blank and she’s relaxed and ready to race again.

Still, she puts her hand over his to keep it on her thigh.

“The deal was that I’d come when we get to the house,” she reminds him.

“You don’t want to come on my fingers now? I can get them under those leggings.”

“I don’t want to come on this vintage leather seat.”

She watches his profile as his cheek dimples into a smile.

*

The house turns out to be a shell-pink neoclassical mansion, its front shaded by jasmine-scented gardens and its back dipping down to the sea along the cliff edge. Rey’s been to parties at places like this—teams are always renting estates to wine and dine their sponsors—but she’s never gone upstairs, let alone stayed overnight.

“So this is my family’s house,” Ben says as they get out of the car, gesturing to it. “Welcome.”

“Your family’s? Not _your_ house? I thought First Order gave you a sweet contract.”

“Don’t worry, they did. But this belongs to my family. My grandfather used to come here and throw these crazy parties with all the other drivers.” He unlocks the door, revealing a marble foyer lined with half-naked statues that take Rey right back to that museum in Paris.

“But you were going to come alone?”

He shrugs. “My parents are on some road trip in one of my dad’s new cars, and Luke’s on another meditation retreat.”

“Oh.” Rey’s heart squeezes a little at the thought of anyone alone in this giant house.

“I like it. It’s like being the emperor of this one little section of coast. It’s sunny, it’s quiet, it’s—” his eyes sweep across her body—“completely private. You can do whatever you want.”

What does she want? She’d had visions of having her way with Ben on every available surface, but it seems wrong to just roll up and start defiling her bosses’ family home. 

She also realizes that they’d never really talked about what this would be before she agreed to come along. Given the suggestive way he’d just mentioned doing whatever they want, it’s probably safe to assume he’d be on board with her plan to ride him like her race car. But if there’s one thing she’s learned from team strategy meetings, it’s that everyone needs to know the plan in order to execute.

“Look, I’m glad you invited me here,” she starts. “It was actually nice of you. But your mom and Luke are technically my bosses, and it’s weird if I just walk in and start screwing on their antique furniture. That belonged to your grandfather.”

“It’s not a museum,” he says. “The furniture should get some use. Even if it has to be reupholstered after. It’s just things.”

“Easy for you to say when you grew up with priceless art just scattered around.” She waves an arm to encompass the statues and their blank gazes. “Some of us only had one house, and the only marble in it was painted on the fake fireplace.”

He looks surprised. “You’re not afraid to race against me, but you’re afraid of ruining a chair? You’re not some nobody from nowhere anymore. If you keep winning races, you could have 10 houses if you wanted.”

“So you did think of me as a nobody from nowhere! I knew it.” The flicker of anger is an unpleasant surprise to her. _We’re supposed to be fucking, not fighting again._

“I’m saying you’re not.” He steps closer, like getting in her face is going to convince her. “You know you belong in F1. I don’t have to say that. I’m saying you belong here too.”

“Wow, thank you so much for saying that,” she says sarcastically, drawing her shoulders back defiantly. “Especially after you already invited me here for two weeks.”

“What do you want me to say, Rey?” His voice drops lower and lower in frustration. “Do you want me to say that your fastest lap in Melbourne was one of the best laps I’ve ever seen? Do you want me to say that I think you’re a good driver?”

“For a start.”

He tries a different tack, the way he’d try a different line on the track when one isn’t quite fast enough. “Do you think I’m a good driver?”

“Well, you’re the defending champion, so I think you know you are.”

“But what do you think?” He folds his arms.

“You’re a good driver, okay? You have a fast car, but you get the most out of it. You held me off for however many laps at Silverstone, even if you did go off the track to defend, and you had an amazing drive at Monaco,” she admits, shifting her weight back, relenting. “And when you drove us here from the airport—you drove the way I would have.”

“Do you like watching me drive?” he presses, closing the distance between them.

“Of course I do. It’s exciting to watch. I wouldn’t be a driver if I didn’t like to watch racing.”

“So how do you think I feel watching you drive? Seeing your talent?”

“Interested?” She takes another step back.

“Excited.” He leans in to drop the word into her ear, and it slithers down her spine, dissolving her pique. She gives a little shudder and when her back meets cool stone, she realizes he’s backed her up into one of the columns lining the foyer. Is it an architectural element or a priceless antiquity? She’s not sure, but also doesn’t care, because this conversation has taken such an interesting turn.

“So you’re not threatened by my driving,” she says. “You’re turned on.”

“Very,” he says. He leans into her and puts his hands on her shoulders, pressing them against the marble. “But I haven’t forgotten our deal. Let me make you come.”

“In a minute.” She’s thinking. “Is that why you keep giving me your room number? I thought it was because we have chemistry and, you know, we both work out a lot.”

“We do,” he says. “But it’s also because I’m the best at what I do, and I want to be with the best.” He’s serious, and it sounds a little ridiculous. 

But, Rey recalls, it’s not far off from what she thought when he texted about going out on the prowl with the Finn. _Sex with someone else would be like driving a go-kart instead of an F1 car._

“I understand,” she says. That’s good enough for now, and she loops her arms around his neck.

“Good.” He presses her into the column again, and she closes her eyes and just feels his fingers and tongue. When she comes her cries bounce off the marble, echoing like all the statues can feel her pleasure and are crying out with her. 

*

There are towels fluffed in the pool house and containers of food stacked in the fridge and every morning, on the doorstep, a basket of fresh produce and bread. It feels like magic, but Rey realizes Ben is just paying someone to take care of this and stay out of their sight. He apologizes that they’ll have to do their own laundry unless she wants the housekeeper to come to the house. Frankly she’s surprised he even knows what the washing machine does.

They wake up when the sun peeks over the cliffs and spills across the bay, and one of them pads downstairs to start the coffee. Then they lift together in the tiny gym with ancient weights and a view of the sea, and run the mossy stairs leading to the grounds until they’re breathless and ready to cool off in the shallow water pooled in the grotto at the edge of the gardens. 

Afternoons are for reading by the pool or walking into town for gelato or going for a drive in the hills. He lets her take the wheel, but makes her pull over on a forested stretch so he can pin her against a tree, bark scraping her back as he fucks into her, birds fussing at them from the branches all around. 

In the evenings they swim in the sea and dry off in the setting sun and then go down to the wine cellar so Rey can close her eyes and pick a bottle that they’ll drink with dinner. Not that keeping her eyes open would make a difference; at home she drinks wine from a box and it’s fine. They talk, too, starting with what’s easy and ending with what’s harder. _Did you see that bird with the white stripe? When I was little I hit a bird with my go-kart and I cried so much I had to quit the race. What did it feel like to crash? Were you scared to drive after you got that scar?_

Some nights they make it to the biggest bed in the room facing the sea, and some nights he spreads her out on the dining table meant for a dozen people or one of the floral-print sofas that are like sinking into a flower bed. Each day her tan gets deeper and Ben’s eyes get softer.

*

One night Rey’s phone pings, and she groans when she glances at it. “Rose messaged. She says Poe is posting photos in his home simulator. Hashtag breaks are for losers. Ugh.” Her eyes shift from annoyance to worry. “You don’t think Leia and Luke expect me to work over the break, do you?”

“My mom is probably unreachable in the mountains somewhere, and Luke’s probably not even allowed to have his phone at his retreat. So, no.” Ben tries to spear a tiny tomato from her plate and she swats his hand away. “I wouldn’t worry about Poe, either. He’s probably just heard the rumors that the Finn is leaving First Order and wants to keep his name out there in case someone needs a driver and wants to pay him a truckload of money. The usual silly-season musical chairs.”

“Is that true? That the Finn might go to another team?” She drains her wineglass.

He pours her the last of the bottle before answering. “I don’t know. He seems happy, he’s been winning races, and he makes enough money to keep his jet flying and his sauna going all winter. But I’m pretty clearly the number-one driver, and as long as I’m going after the championship, I’ll be the team’s top priority.”

Rey considers. “I mean, if I were him, I’d go to a team where I could be the number-one driver. It’s frustrating enough being a rookie and having to be the number two. If I’m driving better than Poe is, I should be number one.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s what I kept telling them last year. The number of times they gave Poe the better strategy because that was Luke’s idea of fairness—”

“Is that why you left?”

“Sort of.” He twirls some pasta to give himself time to think about how to put it. He’s given a hundred interviews about this, but it feels silly to give Rey the same talking points he’d tell a journalist. “You’ve seen the trophies in my grandfather’s study here. And you’re on the team now, so you’ve seen those giant trophy cases at the factory. The family legacy is a lot to carry on.”

“Poor little rich-kid racing prodigy,” Rey says sarcastically. But she uses her fork to flick the tiny tomato from her plate onto his.

“I know. Obviously it made getting into racing so much easier, and after I retire from driving, I can help run the team. But I didn’t want to spend my whole career racing with my family. I was arguing a lot with my mom in front of the team, and I got into fights with Luke because he was so afraid of showing favoritism to me that he’d listen to whatever stupid thing Poe said. I just needed a break from them.”

“Most people just go to college. Or at least, that’s what my friends from home did when their parents got annoying.”

“What did you do?” He realizes he could pick out the gasp she makes when she’s about to come, but he definitely couldn’t name any of these childhood friends or even Rey’s hometown. Then again, which knowledge would he rather have?

“I signed my contract and scarpered out of there,” she says, laughing. “My parents were ecstatic. They only have to go to one race a year now.”

“Your contract is only for a year, right? Have you talked about extending it?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to my manager about this matter,” she says primly. Then she sighs. “I’d really like to. I know I’m supposed to say I’m just happy to have a drive, but I don’t want to have to sign to a team that has a slower car after this year.”

Rey stretches and starts gathering their empty plates. “I’ll think about it after the break. Let’s see what’s left in the fridge for dessert.”

_What a softball_. “I don’t think we need to go to the fridge,” he says, jumping up and grabbing her around the waist. “I see dessert right here.”

*

Her phone rings again when they’re lying out by the pool one hazy afternoon, books abandoned on their stomachs while they argue about whether it’s okay to use team orders—Ben’s against, because he thinks it makes the sport boring if teammates aren’t allowed to race each other; Rey’s in favor, because she thinks sometimes you have to suck it up and do what’s best for the team. A gardener has appeared to weed-whack the flower beds, and Rey has to turn up the volume to hear who’s calling.

“Can you hear me now? It’s Leia.”

“Leia! Hi!” Panic washes over Rey and she makes a face at Ben, making a zipped-lips gesture. He grimaces. “How is your break?”

“Oh, it’s been lovely. Well, except for when we had to push the car uphill to get it to this little inn we found in the mountains. The valet had to run out and help us! I hope your time off has been more relaxing.”

“Oh yeah, very relaxing.” _I’m just lounging around at your house, sleeping in your bed with your son, who is also my professional rival._ “Lots of swimming and time in the sun.”

“Lots of sun? That doesn’t sound like you’re in England then.”

“Oh, no, I’m in Italy, in a little town on the coast. I can’t pronounce the name or I’d tell you where,” Rey fibs.

“Well, that sounds wonderful, and I’m sorry to interrupt,” Leia says. “I’m just calling to let you know that when we’re back from the break in a few days, I’m going to get in touch with your manager about your contract for next year. Luke and I have been very impressed with your driving, and I think we’ll be able to come to an agreement that makes everyone happy.”

“That’s great news! I mean, obviously I’ll talk to my manager about it and everything.” Rey can’t help but grin. Her heart’s pounding in relief that Leia didn’t press her more about being in Italy and in excitement at the thought of driving for Skywalker for another season. 

It would be amazing to get a contract for another year and be able to focus on driving while the rest of the grid works themselves up about the rumors the Finn is leaving and whispers about where he’ll go and who will take his seat.

“I’m happy you’re happy. And if you’ve been talking to any other teams, I hope you’ll tell them to buzz off.”

There’s a beat before Rey realizes Leia expects her to respond, even though it’s not really any of Leia’s business and she ought to be asking Rey’s manager. “Uh, I think you’d have to ask my manager,” Rey says, suddenly a little uneasy. “I haven’t really been thinking about business while I’m away.”

Leia laughs. “All right, you got me, I was fishing. I know you can’t say anything. We’ll talk when everyone is back next week. _Ciao_ , as they say.”

Rey locks and unlocks her phone twice to make sure it’s truly hung up before turning to Ben. “That was Leia. She wants to offer me a contract for next year.”

“Did she also ambush you with a question she wasn’t supposed to ask?”

“Yes! How did you know? She asked if I’d been talking to other teams.”

“She likes to try to catch you off guard. Speaking of which—” He sits up and shows her his own buzzing phone. “Hi, Mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here's the villa](https://www.airbnb.ca/luxury/listing/20731197?locale=en&_set_bev_on_new_domain=1593280478_OWE0ZTE0YzI3OGQz) that inspired this. just waiting to find 100 friends so we can all rent it together and split the cost!


	10. Still thirsty

“Why don’t you fly here and join us?” Leia offers. “We don’t see you at all during the season. We miss you at team meetings.”

Ben had better nip this in the bud before it turns into a full-blown guilt trip. “Does that car you’re driving even have a back seat?”

“Well, no,” Leia concedes. “But I haven’t seen you since January, and you’re staying at the house in Italy all alone.”

“It’s fine,” Ben says. “I just needed to get away. Besides, I’m not alone.” Rey, eavesdropping from the chaise longue next to him, bolts up and shakes her head furiously, mouthing _Don’t!_ “The gardener is here today. And I’ve been eating out lots. Getting some human interaction that way.” He wiggles his brows at Rey.

“Is that what that noise is? The gardener?” Leia sighs. “As long as you’re having a nice time. Maybe we can get together in Belgium next week. You always used to like going out for fries at the race there when you were little.”

“I’ll check my calendar. We have some upgrades so it’s going to be a busy race weekend.”

“Do you know if the Finn is going to announce that he’s leaving for another team?” She’s trying to keep her tone casual.

“Even if I did know, I couldn’t tell you,” Ben huffs. Leia’s prying would be funny if it weren’t so exasperating and constantly directed at him. “Don’t you have any questions not related to work? You know, things you want to talk about with me, your son?”

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“No,” he says. “I’ll let you know when I’m free when we get to Belgium.”

He hangs up and turns to Rey, who’s pretending to read her book. “She asked me if I knew whether the Finn is really leaving First Order next year.”

“And you told your mother you don’t know?”

“I really don’t know if he’s leaving or not.” He falls back against the lounger. “What I do know is that if I told her you were here, she’d accuse me of trying to poach her driver.”

“It’s okay.” Rey rolls onto her side on her own lounger to face him. “I don’t need you to tell my boss we’re sleeping together. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend.” _Interesting how that just slipped out._ From the way she clamps her mouth shut, though, she’s embarrassed to have brought it up.

He’ll just tease a little bit. “Just sleeping together?” He rolls toward her.

“Fine. Sleeping together in your hotel room after casual sex.”

“I don’t know. It’s not that casual to me.” Ben watches her eyes widen, then continues. “It seems pretty serious when you’re begging me to add another finger. One time you told me you’d die if I didn’t fuck you harder.”

She laughs, relieved that he’s let her off the hook of _girlfriend_. “I have never begged. I’m a woman who knows what she wants and I always ask politely for another finger. And I didn’t say I was going to die. I said I would kill you if you didn’t fuck me harder.”

“Either way, a matter of life or death. And I’m still alive, so I must have done a good job.”

*

There’s a boat drifting toward the edge of the bay, but it’s too far away for anyone on board to see her face, so Rey pulls her sundress and bikini top over her head and tosses them on the deck. She’s still fumbling with the ties on the bottoms when Ben comes down the stairs with a plate of snacks and sees her struggling. His eyes light up.

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” He sets the plate on a lounger, pulls his swim trunks down, and leaps naked into the sea. He surfaces a moment later and shakes the water out of his face. “I won.”

“I can’t get this stupid thing untied.”

“I don’t know why you wore it at all to go skinny-dipping. Sit down at the edge and I’ll help you.” He motions and she scoots until her hips are nearly dangling off the deck. Ben swims over and finds a rock where he can perch on tiptoe, leaving just the tops of his shoulders out in the sun. He runs his hands up her thighs, leaving a trail of cool water along her skin that makes her shiver, and slips his fingers under the bikini bottoms, roaming across her hips, thumbs just barely brushing where he knows she wants them.

She lifts her hips into his touch, encouraging him. “I need a little more help.”

He focuses on the ties, undoing the knots on each side, and she lifts her hips again so she can pull the bikini away. The wooden deck is hot against her bare ass and the tender undersides of her legs. He cups his hands in the sea and brings them back to her thighs, letting the salt water trickle down toward her cunt to join the wetness that’s building there. Then he grips her ass, using it to pull his head closer.

His tongue starts soft against her clit, warmer than the water around her feet but cooler than the sun that’s making sweat trickle across her forehead. It gets harder, more insistent as he circles it around her, coaxing a moan out of her. He dips down into her center and pauses, using his fingers to pick up the rhythm while his tongue is busy talking.

“You taste salty today. Like a mermaid.”

“Mmmm.” She arches her back to bring her clit closer to his face.

“Like I could just drink and drink from you and I’d still be thirsty.” He flicks his tongue out to make a teasing stripe on her thigh.

“Don’t stop then.” It comes out as more of a whine than she’s expecting. She reaches for his hair and tugs him toward her.

He smiles and moves in, then parts his lips to suck at her lightly, rubbing his nose into the hair between her thighs and letting his tongue dart out to ripple across her clit. She feels like an oyster being slurped up, swollen and tangy, a delicacy, with her clit as the pearl, rubbed hard and smooth and glistening. But she needs just a little more to come.

Rey lifts her feet out of the water and plants them on the edge of the deck, canting her hips up and practically shoving her cunt into Ben’s face. He hums into her clit, sending vibrations through it that make her gasp.

“I need your fingers too,” she groans. He dips a hand in the water and starts sliding one of his fingers inside her. She’s so wet that there’s barely any friction, but his skin feels deliciously cool in contrast with the heat of her body. She lets her head fall back while thrusting toward him, and he takes the hint to add another finger.

That’s better. Her cunt flutters around his knuckles, pulling them up into her, and he pushes them in deeper before tugging them back, speeding up to match the pace of his tongue. The stretch, the tightness makes her feel even more swollen and ripe. Like she’ll eventually burst and gush all over his face.

She won’t beg, but she’ll babble, telling him how good it feels, urging him to keep lapping her up, finally moaning his name in a way that either lets him know she’s close or stokes his pride; either way it spurs him to double down with fingers and tongue. 

She curls her toes against the deck and breathes through her mouth, letting out little cries. She comes and it feels like a dam breaking, a roaring in her ears, a sweet release that trickles onto his chin and down the back of her ass. When she stops shuddering and puts her feet back in the water, he pulls his fingers out of her and rests his damp headful of hair on her leg. The sunlight is just starting to slant across the water, sparkling on the surface and gleaming on the wetness around his mouth.

“Fuck, that felt good,” Rey sighs. She leans back on her elbows. “How nice to be a mermaid and just lie in the sun all day.”

“And have your clit worshipped by passing sailors?”

“That would be nice, too.” She closes her eyes and tilts her face toward the sun.

“You’d have to watch out, though.” He nips at the top of her thigh.

“For sailors?”

“For sea monsters.” He hoists himself out of the water—bringing half the sea with him—and lands on top of her. 

“Ben! You’re all wet!”

“So are you.”

“You’re cold, though.” She giggles and tries halfheartedly to twist away from him until he gives up and rolls off to flop face down on the deck next to her.

“Why don’t you warm me up?” He twists his neck to look back at her and grin. She climbs on top of his stretched-out body, splaying her hands across the muscles of his back and rubbing a trail of wetness from her still-sensitive cunt across the rounds of his ass.

She leans forward, grazing the edge of his neck with her teeth. “All right, sea monster. I’ve caught you now.” She squeezes the sides of his hips with her knees.

Rey’s thinking about the times she’s had his cock in her mouth before, trying to open her throat so it can slide down. How his skin will be salty and cool today; his come, salty and hot. The way Ben groans when she sucks him off makes it more rewarding than it’s ever been with other partners. But she’s also trying harder with him, both to prove that she’s talented at it and to exert her power over this man who can drive cars fast and probably squat them, too.

Today, though, they have a little time before sunset, and Ben brought snacks down, so they can lie here and have dinner. She doesn’t need to rush.

With her fingers, then her lips, she traces the outlines where his muscles thread beneath the skin, following the water that’s still sluicing off him and dripping between the slats of the deck. She works her way down the channel of his spine to where it dips into the cleft of his ass and licks along it, tasting the salt. She has an idea how she’ll tease him.

She moves back, knees on either side of his legs, and drags her tongue from the back of his balls all the way up to his asshole. Did he just whimper? She keeps it there and starts making light little circles, the way he does on her clit when he wants to draw it out. The water is cresting softly against the rocks, the sun is slanting across her back, and this gorgeous man is willingly trapped between her thighs.

When he shifts and reaches down to adjust himself, Rey stills for a second.

“I’ll get to your cock when I’m done here,” she promises.

“Take your time.” He props one cheek on his bent forearms and settles in.

“I will.” She flicks her tongue against him a little harder now, pushing to see if she can get another moan out of him. It’s gratifying to hear it rumble through him, catching in his throat. She grabs his ass— _fuck, that’s firm_ —and holds it down, forcing him to lie there and accept the pleasure she’s offering.

When he reaches down a second time, she realizes he’s pressed against the deck, wood on wood, which must be getting more uncomfortable as he gets harder.

Rey tugs at his hips. “Get up and get on the lounger so you don’t get a splinter.”

He pushes up, shoulders flexing, and lies on his stomach on the cushion. “I’m sure you could suck it out.”

“I don’t think that’s the best use of my mouth, Ben,” she says, moving behind him to kneel on the deck. “I want to use it to suck all the come out of you.”

“Do you?”

“You’re not the only one who’s thirsty. Now get on your knees so I can reach.” He lifts himself to his hands and knees, and she takes a moment to look at him, the way the hard planes of his back finish in the curve of his shoulders, the way his cock juts out, stretching up toward his ribs even as it hangs away from his hips under its own heaviness. Her mouth waters and she presses her legs together for a little friction.

Then she grabs the fronts of his thighs to pull her face in, getting her tongue back on his ass, really going for it now. He pulls in a sharp breath and starts moving his hips, reaching back to take himself in hand.

She stops him. “Don’t. I’ll do it.”

“Are you going to do it or just keep teasing me?” he groans.

“That depends. Are you going to come just from me playing with your ass? You’re so hard for me already.”

“Maybe.”

“I think you can.” She reaches around and starts stroking him, relishing the smallness of her fingers against his thickness, the smoothness of his skin under her fingertips. “If not, I’ll make you come in my mouth. You like seeing my lips stretched around that big cock, don’t you? Shooting your come down my throat?”

“Fuck, Rey.” He’s losing it, and she loves it. She goes back in with her tongue and reaches down to dip into her own wetness, spreading it on his length. She barely has to do anything, just closes her fingers around his cock as he ruts into her hand. His breathing gets louder, erratic.

“Tell me,” she says. She squeezes her thighs even tighter together.

“You know I like that,” he grunts. “Want to see you take it. Fuck, this is good. I want to come on your little tongue.”

She takes control with her hand, gripping him tighter and going faster as she licks furiously at his asshole, putting her whole body into it the way he does when he fucks her with his fingers and tongue. Just one last effort to take him to the edge. She could probably make him come like this, but she wants to flip him over and take him in her mouth, see his face when he finally falls apart.

“Yes, fuck, just like that. I’m so close,” he breathes. That’s her cue to push him onto his back and guide his cock into her mouth with one hand while stroking his asshole with the other. She’s a little overenthusiastic and almost makes herself gag when she pushes it to the back of her throat, which he must be able to feel because he stops talking in sentences and starts repeating her name again and again. She glides over him with her lips and follows them with her fist, up and down, faster and faster, knowing he’ll come if she keeps it up, wanting him to trust her not to stop until he’s spent.

He tenses but his hips jerk all on their own. “Rey, I’m gonna come,” he gasps in a voice so needy it sends a fresh wave of arousal through her. She lifts her eyes to watch his expression go distant as his cock swells impossibly large against her tongue and his come spurts across it. Salty and hot. She swallows and stills, letting his cock pop out of her mouth, laying it to rest against his hip.

Rey stands up, rubbing her knees where she’d pressed them into the deck, and moves to sit on the other lounger, but Ben catches her around the waist and pulls her on top of him. She nestles her head against his shoulder—sculpted but comfortable—and squints into the sun. He trails his hand down her back and gives her ass a squeeze.

“Fuck, you’re talented,” he says with a sigh. “Both on the track and off.”

“Don’t think I’ll forget you said that.”

“Why? It’s the truth.”

Warmed by the sun on her shoulder and his chest beneath hers and his surprisingly nice words, sated by her own orgasm and the gratification of making him come, Rey feels soft and easy. She’s about to say something equally nice back— _you’ve got a mouth on you, but at least you put it to good use sometimes; your cock feels amazing in my mouth; it’s nice to lie here with you_ —when her stomach rumbles.

Ben reaches for the plate and pushes a piece of cheese against her lips. She lets her tongue graze his fingertips as she accepts it.

“Good thing I brought this down. In another of the strategic masterstrokes I’m known for.”

“Oh, give me a break,” she says with her mouth full. “And a piece of meat to go with this cheese.”

He lets a beat pass. “I know, I know, I hear myself,” she groans. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says sweetly, offering her a slice of salami. “A nice thick piece of sausage for you.”

*

“Are you going to eat more waffles or fries at Spa?” Rey says, licking gelato off her tiny spoon. It’s their last day on break, and she’d insisted on walking into town for one last treat before they get on the plane.

“Sorry?” Ben had been paying more attention to her tongue caressing the chocolate than her words, so apologizing seems like the way to go.

“The food. In Belgium. Waffles or fries?” She looks him in the eye as she gives an exaggerated lick.

“Please. I’m there to race.” He points his spoon at her. “Unlike you, apparently.”

She rolls her eyes and changes gears. “All right, then, are you going to do some flat-out driving at Spa? I can’t wait to actually go around in an F1 car and really send it.” There’s a section of track where—in theory—you can floor it for a couple kilometers.

“Oh yeah. It’s incredible,” he says. It took him quite a few laps to find his rhythm on the track’s rolling hills and blind corners, but it’s one of his favorite parts of the season, just putting his foot down and opening up the engine. “It’ll be a good one to go back to. You’re relaxed after the break, but not quite ready to go back to work. Until you go up the hill the first time. Then you’re thrilled to be back.”

“You’re not ready to go back to work?” She seems genuinely surprised.

“You’d rather study tire data all day than look at the sea? Really?” Of course Ben loves racing, and he’ll get fired up as soon as he walks into the paddock and hears the screech of power tools and smells the rubber. But he’d felt a weird sort of melancholy well up in him the evening before when they sat on the terrace watching the last sunset of the trip.

She shrugs. “You’re in the lead for the championship. I thought you’d be ready to get after it.”

“Maybe in another week or two.” He’d also felt a pang when he brushed his teeth this morning and the bathroom counter was clear, because Rey had already packed her toothbrush and little set of travel-sized bottles of lotion. 

But what’s he going to say? _I’ll miss watching you close your eyes and point to pick the wine. It was nice spending more than one day a week together. I wish we could watch another sunset._ It’s pointless. They can’t just quit driving in the middle of the season and hole up in Italy. Maybe they can come back over the winter break.

Rey takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to stop racing you. Even if, you know, we don’t fight as much outside of work.”

“I didn’t think you would. We can just go back to doing what we’ve been doing.”

“Fighting on the track and screwing in hotel rooms in secret?”

“It’s a deal.” He holds out his spoon. “You can have some of my gelato instead of shaking on it.”

She grins and scoops some from her cup for him. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0/2 people caught feelings on this trip. trust me.


	11. Now you want to fight?

They promised to keep things the same, but Ben knows things are different as soon as they sit down to the first press conference in Belgium. Rey gets the first question, an easy one about whether she had a nice break and how she feels going into this weekend. 

She doesn’t mention they were together, of course. But her eyes spark as she talks about all the gelato flavors she tried and how nice it was to swim in the sea. It sounds idyllic, the way she describes her trip to Italy. 

Sure, Ben felt fired up when he walked into the garage again and saw the gleaming new parts the crew was about to put on his car. He feels a flutter of something else, though, that’s not quite the competitive spirit he’s used to having burning in his belly. This is higher up, lighter, and it makes him uneasy. _Don’t get soft now, Solo._

Then they call on Poe, who’s brimming with his usual confidence. He’s flashing his grin around and slapped at least three reporters on the back before they all sat down.

“If you’ve checked my social media, which I know you all have,” Poe says, “you’ll have seen that I spent less time working on my tan and more time in my home simulator.”

Ben automatically glances at Rey to roll his eyes, but she’s looking down, unscrewing the cap to her water bottle with determined focus. She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Ben! Did you just roll your eyes?” Of course a reporter caught him. Probably better that Rey didn’t catch his eye or they’d have to answer questions about why they were snickering together.

“I did,” he says. “I think that if you’re talented enough to be a driver for the Skywalker team, you should be able to take two weeks off without being worried you’ll forget how to drive.”

There’s a wave of laughter and a barrage of follow-up questions. Poe frowns. Which is fair. Ben knows that was a dickish thing to say. He’s not done yet, though.

“I think the more interesting story is who will be driving for First Order next year,” he says loudly, interrupting. “I’m sure the Finn would like to comment on that.”

The Finn gives him a you’re-being-a-shit glare. “I will comment when asked the question.”

It’s good to be back.

*

Rey doesn’t even ask. She just picks up three croissants and brings them over to the table where Rose is slumped, breathing hard.

“Don’t lift your head,” Rey tells her. “Just hold out your hand. You can do it.”

Rose groans, takes the pastry, and nibbles one end.

“What happened?” Rey tentatively pats her back, then pulls her hand away when she realizes how sweaty Rose is under her tank top.

“This training is killing me,” Rose grumbles through her mouthful of croissant. “We signed up for a half-marathon in December.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Who’s ‘we’?”

Rose closes her eyes. “You know who.”

“That’s great, though! Armie seems like a really nice guy.”

“He’s nice and he doesn’t try to run two steps ahead of me. You know how some guys do, because they always have to be stronger than you or assert their dominance or whatever.”

“You mean like when I was a teenager and dated a guy from my school who called me a bad name because I could do a pull-up and he couldn’t?” _Unlike Ben, who gets a hard-on watching you drive! Do you think that ever happens in the car? I bet it does_ , her brain offers eagerly.

“Exactly.”

“December’s pretty far away,” Rey muses, starting on her own croissants. “It must be going pretty well if you’re making plans for a few months from now. Whatever ‘it’ is.”

“I don’t even know.” Rose sighs. “I mean, I don’t know what it is. The only time we can even see each other is in the mornings when we go running. My dream is to go on a dinner date after the season’s over.”

“Oh yeah, wine him and dine him,” Rey teases. “See what he looks like in a suit instead of his team polo.”

“I really like him.” Rose tries to hold back her smile but can’t. “We met up a couple times over the break and we had a lot of fun. But during the season it would just be easier if it was like you and your mystery man. No emotions, just banging.”

“No pressure, just pleasure,” Rey jokes. It’s not exactly lying not to tell Rose that she’d spent the past two weeks sleeping with Ben _and_ waking up curled around him. Nobody except the Finn even suspects they’re sleeping together. 

Besides, she doesn’t necessarily have feelings for Ben. They’d agreed to go back to their old routine, and any lingering not-right-ness she feels is just sadness that she’s not on holiday anymore.

“As long as he’s taking you to the apex,” Rose jokes back. “Handling your curves.”

“Anything can happen after lights out. Especially when you’re sitting on pole.”

“Speaking of, what’s his monocoque like?”

Rey snorts. “He can box every lap, if you know what I mean.”

“Ooh, a man with a big cockpit! Get in there, Rey!”

“More like the other way around.” They’re both giggling wildly now. The mechanics at the next table over are giving them looks.

Rose wipes her eyes. “I don’t know if this is tears or sweat.” She takes a breath. “Whew. I’m glad we’re friends, Rey. Thanks for talking to me in person. Not just over the radio.”

It’s there on the tip of Rey’s tongue. She could show Rose that she’s glad they’re friends, too, by giving her this great big juicy secret to keep safe.

“Any time, buddy,” is what she says instead. “Finish your croissant and let’s kill it in quali.”

*

Stretching out in a corner of the garage after qualifying, Rey doesn’t think anything of it when Luke ambles over and says Leia wants to see her. Probably a strategy change or a note about the car setup. She grabs her water bottle and follows Luke toward the office area, waiting while he takes a chair from the back of the garage to bring along. Maybe Poe’s in this meeting too, and they need an extra seat.

Except the legs sticking out from the other chair are too long to be Poe’s, and that head of dark hair is definitely Ben’s. Luke drags the spare chair around so he and Leia are on the far side of the desk while Rey sits next to Ben. 

Rey’s sure Leia figured it out somehow. It’s like having to report to the stewards again, except this time Rey will have to explain her sex life to her boss, Ben’s mother, instead of accounting for her driving to an impartial panel. _So fucking mortifying._ Why else would Leia have called this meeting?

And how did she even catch them? Did somebody see Rey through the peephole of their hotel room? Unlikely. Did the Finn tell on them? He would never; he doesn’t talk if he doesn’t have to. Did somebody hack her phone? There _was_ that big scandal a few years ago. The media could have hacked into her texts and downloaded them and forwarded them to Leia and now she’s seen that topless shot from the pub toilet and—

“Thank you for coming, Ben. Rey. Now that we’re all here, I have a question,” Leia begins. “Who remembers what happened at the European Grand Prix three years ago?”

Silence. Luke folds his hands and leans back, like he’s settling into a favorite armchair and getting ready to take a nap. _Is he enjoying this?_ Ben taps his foot impatiently.

“I’ll give you a hint. Ben won it because he heard something on the radio.”

Oh. Rey’s seen this replay loads of times. “The one with the double-stacked pit stop he overheard?”

“Correct. Ben, do you remember what happened now?” Leia glares at him.

“I was talking to you on the radio and I overheard the First Order guys doing their pit stops. They double-stacked, so I figured out that both of their cars had changed tires at the same time and pushed to widen the gap between us and them.” He glances at his watch, making it obvious he thinks he’s too busy for this.

“That’s right. You listened to what was going on in the background and used that information.” Leia leans forward across the desk. “A lesson that I haven’t forgotten.” 

She glances at Luke, who starts and then seems to remember what she wants him to say. It’s all very dramatic—Rey can see where Ben gets his over-the-top style from—but where are they going with this?

“Look, clearly the two of you don’t get along. You’ve fought in press conferences, you’ve fought on the track, and you’ve goaded each other into taking penalties—which cost the team as well, I might add.” Luke leans back again.

“Imagine my surprise, then, when I called both of you last week and heard the exact same noise in the background,” Leia continues. “Like a power tool. Ben told me it was the gardener.” 

_The gardener’s weed-whacker, or whatever it was. Shit._ Rey can’t help but glance at Ben, whose poker face is even worse than hers. They both know they’re busted. She tries to subtly wipe her sweaty palms on her suit.

“Rey, are you in talks with First Order? You said you were in Italy.” And there’s the ambush from Leia. “I know you don’t like each other—which is fine, even though Ben is my son—so I know it wasn’t a social call.”

Okay. Leia hasn’t guessed the whole truth. Time to keep lying by omission. “I think that’s a conversation you should have with my manager.” Next to her, Ben gives a huff that sounds like he’s trying not to snort with laughter.

Leia sighs. “Thank you, Rey. I’ll make some calls. You can go.”

Rey leaves the room and presses her ear against the closed door as soon as she shuts it. She’s pretty sure Ben won’t crack, but it’s better to know if he does reveal anything else.

On the other side, Leia is raising her voice. “This is fucking unbelievable! You’re trying to poach my driver!” It sounds like she’s banging on the desk, the way Ben sometimes does in press conferences. “You told me you were staying at the house by yourself. But you lied to me! You were using our family’s home to try to recruit talented people away from our family’s team.”

“You deserve to lose talented drivers like her if you keep treating them as the number two,” Ben retorts, matching her volume.

There’s a murmur that must be Luke saying something, and then Ben starts back up. “When are you—both of you—going to realize that Poe is a driver, not an engineer? He has some good ideas on the track and some fucking stupid ones off of it. Stop acting like they’re all worth paying attention to.”

“It’s her rookie season,” Leia shouts. “Our two-time championship driver deserted us, and now I have to rebuild the team.”

“She could fight me for the championship!” Something slides across the floor. Maybe Ben’s chair as he stood up?

“Now you want to fight? I thought First Order was going to throw money at making sure you win.”

“I’ll fight someone who’s worthy of it!” It sounds like he’s kicked the chair now.

“Rey, there you are!” She jerks away from the door and whirls around to find Rose behind her. “The crew said you were meeting with Leia. Are there any strategy changes I need to know about?”

Suddenly the door is flung open and they both jump back guiltily. Ben bursts out, glares at them, and stalks toward the garage exit.

“Huh,” Rose says, watching him leave. “I guess not.”

*

“Hey! You! Let’s have a drink.”

Ben turns away from the sponsor he’s been standing near—he stopped listening to their conversation when the guy started reciting the lineage of the racehorse he owns a stake in and comparing it to Ben’s racing heritage—and sees the Finn at the end of the hand on his shoulder.

This sounds way better. Ben excuses himself and steers the Finn toward the bar.

“Have you ever talked to that guy before? Don’t,” Ben says. “What are we drinking? More vodka?”

They get a bottle and two glasses and park themselves at one end of the bar.

“Is this where you tell me you’re leaving the team?” Ben asks, pouring shots.

The Finn takes his and smiles. “Not yet. I’m telling you I don’t want to answer any more questions about it.” Is he actually mad Ben called him out in the press conference?

“Just tell everyone your plans, and they’ll stop asking about it. Problem solved.” Ben downs his own shot and tries not to shudder in front of the Finn.

“I’ll tell you when I make my decision.”

“All right. Where will you go, though, seriously?” The vodka’s already warming him up. That and the other drinks he’s already had at the team party. “I’ll tell you a secret: I actually like having you as my teammate.”

The Finn laughs and motions for Ben to pour another round, then knocks his back like it’s water.

“That’s not your secret. You think I’m stupid? You want Rey to be your teammate.”

Ben chokes on his shot and the Finn gives him a helpful slap before continuing. “What do you think I talked to her about on the—at the boat party?”

The boat party. The yacht? Monaco? _He—somehow—figured it out weeks ago. Shit! Then again, he hasn’t said anything_ , Ben thinks.

“I don’t know,” he demurs. “Racing? She’s a good driver.”

The Finn gives him a look.

Ben gives up playing dumb. “Fine. It’s just casual. Like the women you meet at these parties.”

The Finn sighs and pours the vodka himself this time. Ben’s not sure he can actually keep up at this rate. At least he’s not seeing Rey after this; she has to fly back to England for some event in between this race and the one in Italy next week.

“I see the way you look at her. It’s like it was with my ex-wife. You fight, you fight, you fight—oops! You are fucking.” The Finn shakes his head like he’s reminiscing fondly— _what can you do?_ —and drinks.

“What happened with your ex-wife?” Ben’s not sure he even knew the Finn had been married before. It’s not like he would have mentioned it in interviews, and they’ve only been teammates for this season.

“Too much of one, not enough of the other.” He shakes his head regretfully. “She left me for a rally driver.”

“And that’s why you’re always after Ludivine, or whatever her name happens to be that weekend?” Ben finds himself genuinely curious.

The Finn shrugs. “I’m still young. I enjoy myself. If I don’t, what is the point of being a racing driver?”

“To win?”

“That’s part of it. But that’s not all of it.” The Finn uncaps the bottle and waits patiently while Ben empties his glass before refilling both.

“You’re saying I should enjoy myself more by getting Rey to be my teammate.” His brain is starting to struggle to grasp what the Finn’s getting at, like a set of tires that are just past their peak and beginning to slide around.

The Finn clinks his glass against Ben’s and swallows. “Think about it. You race with her all day, you see her little smiles in the team meetings, you make love to her all night.” He lifts Ben’s glass and brings it to Ben’s lips. Ben obliges.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Yes. And I will keep it quiet. But no more talking about me in the press conference.”

“All right.”

“All right. Now, we’ll have one last drink.”

*

The more Ben thinks about it, the more appealing the idea is. Racing against Rey in the same car would be fighting on completely even footing—just his talent versus hers, two equals battling it out on the track. He’d still win, of course, but he could give her tips on setting up the car, show her a thing or two about racecraft.

Even better, in his imagination, is everything that would come off the track. If they were on the same team, they could always stay at the same hotel. Sneak away to the drivers’ rooms for a little over-the-suit action while the mechanics were working on the cars. Have breakfast together in the hospitality suite like they were on vacation in Italy again.

They _are_ back in Italy the week after the race in Belgium, racing on the circuit in Monza. He expects Rey will be frustrated; her team made her go first in practice and qualifying to give Poe the slipstream—and a significant advantage—on the track’s long straights. It’s clear she really is irritated when she turns up at his hotel room, kicks the door shut behind her, and pushes him onto the couch, where she rides him with one hand lightly at his throat, her other hand rubbing herself to the finish, thighs working furiously to wrench his orgasm out of him.

This is the time to bring it up, right? When they’re both sated and getting sleepy. They brush their teeth—he packed an extra toothbrush this time to encourage her to stay over—and get under the sheets.

But she talks first. “Thanks for that,” Rey says, rolling to face him. “I just—I wanted to slap Poe after driving in front of him all day.”

“I told my mom last week, I don’t understand why she’s giving him the advantage.”

“I’m the rookie, he has experience, the usual bullshit.”

Maybe this is his opening. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“It better not be next year. I’ll go off the rails.”

“Have you talked any more about your contract for next year?” He tries to keep his tone light.

“Not really. Everyone’s so busy with the back-to-back races.”

“But you’re not happy.”

“The car’s good, even though it was developed for you,” she says with a smile in her eyes. “I think I can work with Rose to make it better for next year. But on days like today—” She puffs air out through her cheeks in exasperation.

“Don’t re-sign with them.” It feels like his heart’s beating hard enough to shake the bed. “Come to First Order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i regret that i have but one monocoque joke to make


	12. Don’t argue with the data

“What?” Rey lifts her head off the pillow. It’s been a long, tiring day, and she’s even more worn out by having used Ben to relieve her stress. Did he really suggest that she switch teams?

“Come to First Order,” he repeats. “Together, we’d be unstoppable. We’d win the championship every year.”

“I don’t know if I can.” She tries to remember what her manager said on their last phone call. “I’m already in talks with Leia. I think.”

“You can get out of it. Come on, you want to play second fiddle to Poe until they think you’re experienced enough to be the number-one driver? Don’t waste your time. You’re better than that.”

“I don’t know.” She lets her head fall back onto the pillow.

“I thought we were getting along,” he says, his voice flat. “I thought we had a fun trip, and that maybe spending more time with me wouldn’t be so awful.”

“It was fun, but this is a big decision, and right now I just want to go to sleep.”

“Will you think about it?”

“I’ll think about it,” she murmurs.

“Please,” he says, or maybe she’s already drifted off and she dreams it.

*

The more she thinks about it, the more tangled up everything seems. Fortunately, she has plenty of time to think in the two weeks between the race in Italy and the one in Singapore, which she and Poe spend in an empty office at the factory, signing posters between meetings. Maz made her look pretty good in the photos, but it’s still eerie to see her own face at three times its normal size, retouched and printed on high-gloss stock.

They’ve worked out a solid assembly-line system: she opens the box, rips the plastic wrap, signs the poster, slides it to him, he signs, he stacks them up. Every 100 posters or hats, they give themselves a stretch break. _If Ben were your teammate you could be bending over for a different kind of break_ , her brain pipes up while Rey touches her toes.

The idea of spending more time together is surprisingly appealing. She can imagine hours at the factory arguing over car setup, followed by evenings in the pub arguing over which track is the best on the calendar, rare days off spent driving through the countryside. It’s strange to picture this, considering that she’d spent the first few races enraged, convinced Ben didn’t respect her. But it also feels like it could be right, especially when she remembers how earnest he looked when admitting just how much he enjoys watching her drive.

The idea of joining another team gives her pause. She’d have to get the feel for a different car, get used to the way First Order operates. Some drivers can hop in any seat and adapt; some champions have struggled when they switched teams and didn’t know they would struggle until it was too late. 

It’s not unheard of to make a move, but leaving a team after only a year—especially when the car is good—could make her look flaky. It would burn her bridges with Leia and Luke, who are big players in motorsport with a lot of money and clout. And she’d miss the chance to work with Rose to implement their ideas for next year’s car.

Poe elbows her. “Come on, teammate! Are you gonna sign those or daydream?”

Rey jumps and sees the stack of unsigned posters she must have taken out of the box without realizing. “Didn’t I already sign these? I feel like I’m in a wormhole,” she jokes. She’s still pissed about having to drive in front of him at qualifying in Monza, but she has more important things to think about right now. Better to keep it friendly.

“Wait until we finish all these and they bring in five more boxes,” Poe grumbles. “Last year they tried to get us to sign our names and car numbers, so Ben wrote ‘BS 69’ on a whole box just to be a shit. They made both of us come back and redo them.”

“You can check my work. I’m signing my name and only my name.”

“Good,” Poe says. “I’ve got a date tonight. If I told Ben that, he would have drawn devil horns on all the posters just to fuck with me. But I know I can trust you.”

“Yep.” She goes back to signing in silence, because this opens up a new line of thought. She knows what Ben’s like as a rival and in bed, but she’s not sure what he’d be like as a teammate.

He’d told her they could win the championship every year, that she wouldn’t have to play second fiddle to Poe anymore. But how would that actually work? The point of the drivers’ championship is that only one driver can win. Will she end up playing second fiddle to Ben instead?

Was that why he’d asked in the first place? Keep your enemies closer, and all that. What better way to make sure she can’t beat him than to get her on the same team? Where he can make sure that he always gets upgrades before her. Where he can ask for team orders, which means the team bosses can make her let him pass, even though he claims to be against them.

But that wasn’t why he’d slept with her, right? He hadn’t even kissed her first after they got called to the stewards. She was the one who marched to his hotel room that night and practically tackled him to the floor. 

Maybe he’d counted on that, though. For every creepy fan who photoshops Rey’s face into a wedding photo, there are probably five women waiting outside the paddock to ask Ben to sign their breasts. She thinks of the carefully maintained muscles running hot under his skin, the way he pulls his fingers through his lustrous hair, how he sets his full lips into a pout. He has to know he’s hot. He just hasn’t used that against any of his other opponents because Rey is the only one who’s vulnerable.

Still. If he’d only been out to seduce her, didn’t it backfire? All the sex has actually helped her relax and drive well, and she knows he’s been throwing fewer tantrums in the garage. Besides, he wouldn’t have been able to control his temper for two whole weeks in Italy over the break if he hadn’t genuinely softened toward her. _And hardened. Don’t forget the hard parts_ , her brain interjects. Maybe his intentions don’t even matter if she’s getting what she wants from him and that’s a thorough dicking-down. Or licking down.

Poe elbows her again.

“I’m on it,” she says, uncapping her marker. “I swear.”

She’s going in circles anyway. It might be time to stop thinking about it on her own and get someone to help.

*

Rey waits on a bench by the hotel’s rooftop garden until Luke emerges—probably from meditation, possibly from a nap.

He seems pleased to see her. “Why didn’t you meditate with me? No one else ever wants to.”

_Because I don’t want to listen to you chant or snore for an hour?_ “Oh, thanks. Maybe another time. I actually wanted some advice, if you’ve got a few minutes?” She figures it’s best to just ask. Plus, Luke was willing to give her the tapes, so he’s probably willing to listen.

He sits next to her. “All right. Shoot.”

“I know you and Leia are upset that I went to the house in Italy to talk to Ben”—this seems like the best way to phrase what she was doing there—“but I don’t mean to be disloyal.”

“Drivers switch teams all the time these days.”

“But you didn’t. You drove for Skywalker your whole career. Why?”

“It was my father’s team, and then it became my team.”

Well, obviously. “You never thought about moving? Even when other teams had way better cars?”

“I didn’t let myself be tempted by my opponents.” He flicks his eyes to her and then away. It reminds her of Ben, letting her know he’s on to her. But Luke doesn’t know just how much she’s already given in to temptation.

“It’s easy to be drawn in by a faster car or a bigger contract,” Luke continues. “But what Skywalker had was more important than a few race wins, or even another championship. My father built a legacy that will last for generations.”

“You don’t think that ended when Ben left?”

“Of course not. Leia and I are carrying it on. Poe is carrying it on. You are carrying it on.”

“But a bigger contract can be a legacy, too. I could help my parents retire and put away enough for my own retirement. I could buy a house like your father’s estate in Italy that my grandkids could enjoy.”

“Wealth isn’t an end in itself. It’s what you do with it.”

She can’t stop the frown from creasing her brow. That’s easy enough to say when you inherited a ton of money from your rich father’s untimely death and your parents didn’t spend most of their retirement savings on your racing career. Luke just had to keep racing. Rey needs to make sure her talent eventually pays off.

He sees her expression. “You don’t agree?”

“Let me get rich first and then I’ll get back to you.” She tries to say it lightly, but something passes across his face like he finds the money talk distasteful.

Rey changes the subject. “What about driving different cars? You never wanted to try one out?”

Here his face softens into a smile. “I’m really boring you, huh? You can’t believe I wasn’t led astray by a faster, sexier machine.”

“Not just that. Doesn’t driving different cars make you a better driver? More adaptable?”

“My father developed the Skywalker car and taught me to drive. Then when I became the team’s driver, it was tailored to me. The car embodied all his philosophies about racing.”

“So it’s better to work with the team that’s suited to you, rather than trying to get into a car that goes faster for another driver?”

He lifts his palms. “It’s what worked for me.”

“Even when your car was slow?”

“Everyone remembers the years of greatness. Only I remember the years the car was slow. I just had to free myself of my anger over it and my own desire to win.”

“Is that racing, though? You know, if you no longer go for a gap that exists and all that.”

“To me it is.”

Okay. His advice boils down to staying with one team, like he did—following his path, instead of trying to make her own. But she knows she’d have to get paid a lot to sit in a slow car. She wouldn’t do it just for the sake of some family name.

Rey nods. “Thanks, Luke. That gave me a lot to think about.”

_Actually, that was a bit of a waste of time_ , she thinks to herself. She’ll have to talk to someone else.

*

“I don’t want to talk about joining First Order, okay?” Rey announces when she slips into his hotel room in Singapore. “I’m still thinking about it.”

A tiny little black hole opens in Ben’s stomach and starts sucking at his guts, vacuuming up the butterflies that were there before. _Stop it_ , he tells himself. _Don’t pressure her. There’s plenty of time left in the season for her to decide._

“Okay,” he tells her out loud. “Keep thinking. What do you want to talk about instead?”

She toes off her flats and leaps onto the bed. “Something nice.”

He leans over her and uses his fingertips to brush her hair away from her neck, letting his lips trail behind them. His cock gives a little pulse. She always showers before coming over, and apparently the scent of her slightly damp hair now signals his libido that it’s time.

“Why don’t I tell you a bedtime story?” he murmurs into her ear. She shivers and nods.

“Once upon a time,” Ben continues, moving his hand to her waist and reaching under her shirt to skim her stomach, “twenty racing drivers came to Singapore to have a race.

“They all put their headsets on and lined their cars up on the grid.” He nips at her jaw lightly while he reaches around with his other hand to unclasp her bra. “They all had a fresh set of tires to start the race.

“Some of the cars had soft tires on.” He kisses the soft corner of her mouth and she parts her lips, looking for more.

“Some of the cars had supersoft on.” He traces the velvety skin of one breast, sliding his palm over the nipple to tease her, savoring how she arches into his touch.

He pauses. “None of the cars had medium on.” Rey reaches for him, trying to bring his fingers to her other breast, but he catches her wrist and covers her hand with his.

“And one of the cars,” he says with his lips at her ear, making her shiver again, “had hard on.” He moves their hands down to palm his cock together.

He sighs in pretend satisfaction. “Then after lights out they all went for a good, long, hard drive. The end.”

Rey sighs back. “That’s it? That’s your bedtime story?”

“That’s the end of the talking part.” 

*

The race in Singapore is grueling: 60-plus laps around an unforgiving street circuit, in tropical heat and humidity that keep sweltering even after the nighttime start, under floodlights that glare off the track surface in odd ways. The Finn wins from pole, seeming to breeze around the corners while the rest of the pack slogs and sweats their way through behind him. Rey’s happy with her fourth-place finish, mainly because she didn’t pass out from dehydration or cause any of the three safety cars by swiping a barrier with her front wing.

Rose wakes her up with a text asking if she wants to do brunch, which her stomach can’t resist, so the next morning Rey’s rubbing her eyes at a table in the hotel courtyard, willing the breeze over the bay to pick up and lift her hair off her neck. She glances at the menu, but Rose snatches it away.

“This is my treat,” she says. “For all the croissants you brought me.”

“I can order myself a waffle,” Rey protests.

“Oh, I’m going to order more than waffles.” Rose’s eyes light up as she scans the menu. “All you have to do is sit there and wait for the food. You need this. I looked at the data, and you sweated a ton last night.”

“A literal ton?”

“Also your heart rate was elevated. Don’t argue with the data.”

Rey doesn’t. She just sits there and looks at the water, feeling grateful to be in this lovely hotel with her lovely friend, with nothing to do for the day except enjoy brunch and then board the team plane to the next race in Russia. Leave it to Rose to have the answer to her post-night-race exhaustion. 

Maybe she could help Rey figure out some other answers.

“Would you follow me to a different team?” Rey blurts out.

“What? Hang on, let me have another sip of coffee first.”

“If I joined a different team, would you come with me? So you could still be my race engineer?”

Rose thinks about it. “It depends what team. I mean, I just joined Skywalker and they were a step up. I’m not going back to a midfield team. Sorry.”

“It’s another good team.”

“Yeah, but which one? I can’t give you an answer without all the relevant information.” Rose waits for a second, looking expectantly at Rey, then adds, “That means you need to spill all the details. Are you talking to another team, which team is it, what are the pros and cons of moving, et cetera, et cetera.”

Rey takes a deep breath. “Okay. It’s First Order. Pro, they have a good car, so I could keep winning, and you’d probably get to see Armie more often.”

“But I assume you’d be taking the Finn’s seat, because there are all those rumors he’s leaving,” Rose interjects. “Con, we’d be giving up all the work we’ve done developing next year’s car for you and basically jumping into a car that was developed for the Finn.”

“Which would be a challenge.”

“Not impossible, but not necessarily my dream.” Rose takes a gulp of coffee, warming to the subject. “Bigger con, if the Finn’s leaving, that leaves Ben as your teammate. Think about all the time you have to spend with Poe and then replace Poe with Ben. Then add, what, one tantrum per race?”

“It seems like he’s calmed down a little over the season. Just like I calmed down after I was so nervous at the start.”

“I still think that counts as a con.”

“Maybe I’ll learn something from him? He’s the defending champion.”

“I don’t know.” Rose wrinkles her nose. “Do you even want to learn from him? It seems like every time you talk, you get into an argument.”

“We don’t fight every time.”

“I’m going to need some evidence. Name three times you’ve talked without arguing.”

“When he congratulated me on my fastest lap and on the podium at Silverstone. You were there both times!”

“Name a third time.”

“Um.” Where is that breeze? Sweat is practically dripping down Rey’s forehead. The only examples she can think of are from their nights alone in Ben’s hotel room. Or the two weeks she spent with him in Italy and didn’t tell Rose about. 

Luckily at that moment their server comes over and unloads plate after plate onto the table.

“You don’t have to keep stalling to think of a third time,” Rose says, relenting as she dishes out. “What I want to know is, what makes you think we should move Ben from con to pro? I thought being his teammate would be enough of a con to rule out switching teams.”

“I just don’t know if he’ll be that bad to deal with. He wants me on the team.”

“How do you know that?”

“He’s the one who asked me to join First Order. Ha! That’s my third example.”

“Just out of the blue, he asked if you’d be interested in switching teams? You got together for a coffee and a little chat?” 

_Shit._ Rey didn’t think Rose would ask so many questions. “Not exactly.”

Rose takes a huge bite of a bun and chews slowly, motioning for Rey to continue.

“I was complaining about having to give Poe the slipstream in Monza, and Ben suggested I switch teams. He said if I was tired of playing second fiddle to Poe, I should come to First Order.”

Rose still isn’t finished chewing, so Rey has to go on.

“Ben respects me as a driver. He’s willing to race against me. He doesn’t have to do...whatever Poe’s doing behind the scenes to try to help himself.”

“I still need more context. Did you call Ben up and ask for career advice? How did you even fit that into your schedule? I have to get up at the crack of dawn to see Armie.”

“We’ve just been texting. I think a lot of the other drivers even have a group chat.” 

“Oh.” Rose’s face brightens. “Let me see your texts, then, to analyze them. I didn’t realize we had all this info to work with.”

Oh no no no no no. Rey can’t hand her phone over. There’s a chance Rose won’t figure out what’s happening if she only sees the texts with room numbers. But not much farther up the chain is Ben texting to confirm their Italy plans, their gossiping about Rose and Armie, her sad attempt at a topless photo from the pub. 

She’s going to have to come clean.

“I think I should tell you something,” Rey starts. “This might be a surprise, but Ben and I have been hanging out outside of work.”

“Like going for coffee?”

“Like meeting for sex,” she admits. “Sorry I kept this a secret from you.” It’s not that Rey’s ashamed—like Rose said, sex isn’t dirty—it’s that she feels bad for keeping this juicy tidbit from her friend.

“What the fuck! Rey! That’s who you’ve been banging this whole time? There are like a hundred women who would kill for a piece of that. And it’s my driver who’s tapping it. I’m so proud.” Rose holds up a hand. “Get it, girl!”

Rey high-fives her. “I mean, yeah, he’s hot and I’m having fun. I just didn’t want it to become a thing around the paddock. Or for Leia and Luke to find out. Please don’t tell anyone, not even Armie.”

“I won’t. But are we talking hate sex? Or are you staying the night?”

“Well,” Rey hesitates, then calculates that it’s better to get it all out now. “I also went to his family’s estate in Italy with him over the break, and we fucked loads of times there, and he told me he’s attracted to me because of my talent, which, obviously that part’s mutual, and then he asked if I would join his team and I’m seriously thinking about it because it would just make things so much easier if we had the same schedule.” She shrugs. “Just so you have all the relevant info, or whatever.”

Rose is crying. No, she’s laughing. Actual tears stream down her face as she doubles over and bangs the table. “Estate—in—Italy,” she hiccups to herself. The server rushes over, looking concerned. “More water!” Rose wheezes. “Oh my god, this brunch was worth whatever it’s going to cost me.”

She looks at Rey and takes a breath at least three times before she can finally get any words out. “Rey, you and Ben are great drivers, but neither of you has a clue. Don’t you see what’s happened?”

“I had an amazing rookie season and a ton of great sex?”

“No, no. Wrong conclusion. What happened was, you started out hating each other, but then you had sex a bunch of times and went on vacation together, and now you like each other.”

Is that the right conclusion? That can’t be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean, there's a reason rey and ben are driving the cars and not making the strategy calls
> 
> bedtime story joke 100% stolen from this [real-life radio message](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaFPt4qwZOI&feature=youtu.be&t=90)
> 
> ["if you no longer go for a gap which exists you are no longer a racing driver."](https://www.racefans.net/2015/11/20/if-you-no-longer-go-for-a-gap-which-exists-you-are-no-longer-a-racing-driver/) come on, luke! (although it's not his fault i wrote him as completely unhelpful.)


	13. I’m a changed man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quick heads up that rey initiates sex while ben is still asleep at the end of this chapter (to his delight). if you'd rather skip that, just stop reading after they go to sleep.

“Rey, did you have anything else to add about the changes to the rear wing?”

“What? No. No, just the comment I made earlier about how it felt like it increased downforce in slower corners.” 

The meeting moves on, and Rey takes the lid off her coffee to see if she can suck any more out of the cup. They raced under gray skies in Sochi—the only bright spots Ben’s wicked smile when she brought her vibrator to his room and handed it over to him, then his soft lips whispering over her hair when she stayed to watch a movie after—and then she flew back to England for a solid week of late nights at the Skywalker factory. She’s craving sunshine and sleep and has barely had time to reflect on what she and Rose talked about over brunch.

But next year’s car is coming along. She and Rose have finally gotten to try out some of the ideas they’d talked about in the corners of team parties. It’s not quite as exciting to sit in the simulator as it is to actually drive the car, but it’s gratifying to make tweaks and see immediate improvement. 

It helps that the factory team takes notes when Rey talks and doodles when Poe does; she’d sat next to one of the engineers one day and glanced at their notebook before they could cover it with their arm. Well, it helps her ego, at least.

*

First Order has been ramping up their development post Sochi, forcing Ben to stop at their factory in England between the races in Japan and Mexico. This time there are no relaxed evenings in the pub with the Finn. The team opens the crates of energy drinks their sponsor sends every year and chugs them down with dinner, then keeps working. 

He’d even had to do an urgent conference call from Japan, struggling to pay attention while Rey passed him increasingly filthy notes like _Don’t look but I’m fingering myself_ and _I want to stuff your cock in my mouth while you sit there_. He tucked them in his suitcase while she ordered room service after he’d finally gotten off the call and gotten on top of her.

He does have time, though, for a lunch with Armie that’s meant to be about the interviews Ben has coming up and what the team wants him to say in them. The two of them shuffle through the lineup in the cafeteria and take their trays to a table by the window.

“So I think most of these interviews will just be phoners about your season so far, what you’re looking forward to next year, that sort of thing.” Armie sets his phone on the table and checks his calendar invites. “Nothing on camera until closer to the end of the season.”

“That doesn’t seem too terrible,” Ben admits.

“It’s because you behaved yourself this year and didn’t punch anyone. I didn’t have to go around promising exclusives to try to limit the damage.”

Ben shrugs. “I’m a changed man.”

“I like it! Switching teams was what you needed for a fresh outlook. It renewed your drive to win and your focus and all that.” Armie types a note into his phone. “I’ll email you these points after we’re done.”

“That and some decent competition for once.”

“I don’t think you need to criticize any other drivers. Just focus on yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to criticize! I’m saying it’s a good thing. It’s better for the drivers and the teams and the fans if Rey and I are actually fighting on track.”

Armie sighs but keeps typing. “Just please don’t mention any other drivers by name. We don’t need everyone calling Skywalker for comment.”

“Not even to say something nice?”

“You were pretty hard on Rey at the start of the season. I don’t think it’s a good idea to get people thinking about those comments again.”

Ben puts down his burger and leans in. “Look, I’m trying to get her to join First Order next season. I’ll talk about switching teams, I’ll talk her up, I’ll be good. And then it won’t be such a leap for everyone to think of us as teammates.”

Armie stops typing and groans. “Ben. You just told me you’re a changed man. But you want to stir shit up by suggesting that Rey should join First Order?”

“Well, yeah. That way we’ll be racing each other in the same car. It will be more exciting. We can frame it as a true test of skill. Or however you think I should phrase it.”

“First of all, that won’t be the story. Everyone is just going to write about how this is a big fuck-you to Leia and Luke, and how you’re being an asshole and stealing their driver.”

Ben opens his mouth to protest, but Armie shakes his head and keeps talking. “Second of all, and more importantly, that’s a terrible idea. We’re doing well this year because we have a number-one driver and a number-two driver. Having two number ones is a giant headache. Teams always think they want to try it, but it never works. That’s how you end up with teammates crashing into each other and getting a double DNF.”

“We won’t crash into each other.”

Armie sighs with his whole body. “Okay. I’m not going to argue about that. Can we please just agree that for these interviews, you won’t talk about Rey? Please? Just talk about yourself.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” Armie goes back to typing, then his phone makes the email-sending swoosh. “There. I just sent you the notes.”

*

The night before the race in Mexico, it’s their usual routine. Rey skips the shower in her own room in favor of taking one in Ben’s room, pulling him under the spray and making him watch her lather herself in what she hopes is a sexy way. When her foot slips he catches her, but after that he picks her up and carries her to the bed. Neither of them can afford to break an ankle and miss the rest of the season just so they can get it on in the shower.

The night after the race in Mexico, Ben texts her an unfamiliar address and tells her to message when she’s there. Following him inside, Rey’s surprised to see that it’s an apartment building. Clearly he has something different in mind for tonight, and the thought excites her.

“Nice place.” She takes in the sleek walnut paneling and peeks at herself in a wall of mirrors. She’d picked out this silky white slip dress for the team party mainly because it doesn’t show sweat, but she also can’t help but think it looks good on her.

“A family friend let me use it for the night.”

Rey waits until he presses the button for the penthouse, then crowds him into the corner while the elevator shudders its way up, hands on his chest.

“What are you going to do with me now that you’ve lured me out here?” she teases.

“It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

“I kind of like when it’s hard, though.” She shifts her hips forward, grinding against his thigh, feeling the heat of his body through her flimsy dress.

He puts a hand on her back to hold her still. “There are a few options. Plan A, there’s dinner in the fridge and a plunge pool on the terrace. And a bottle of wine, since we’re not driving tomorrow. I thought we could have a little getaway. Like Italy, but only for one night.” He moves his hand down, letting her feel how easily it molds around her ass. “Plan B, I’ll fuck you in the elevator since it seems like that’s what you want.”

“What makes you think that?”

He bends his head down so it feels like he’s the one invading her space, even though she’s got him backed into a corner. “I saw you checking yourself out on the lobby. Looking at the way this little dress barely covers your ass.”

“Excuse you,” she huffs. “This dress goes down to my knees.”

“Not right now it doesn’t.” Suddenly she feels his fingertips hot against the backs of her thighs and realizes the hand on her ass has been tugging at the fabric, pulling the dress up. He skims one finger along the edge of her underwear, following it between her legs. “That’s how I can feel that you’re already wet.”

“So observant.” She presses herself even closer, trying to feel his cock against her stomach.

“And you’re rubbing yourself against me like you need to get fucked. Even though you just came to my hotel room. I don’t want to leave you empty and unsatisfied.” He pulls at her underwear like he’s going to slip his finger inside, then lets the elastic snap back. She groans in frustration.

He’s not wrong. No matter how many times they see each other, she craves more. No matter how many times she comes, it’s never enough. What makes it bearable, even pleasurable, is that he seems to share her need.

“It’s so good, Ben. Why wouldn’t I want to take your cock over and over?” She traces the head of it through his pants with one fingertip the way he’s doing to her, mimicking the way her tongue would swirl over the blunt tip. “Don’t pretend you don’t need to fuck me just as badly.”

“You’re right. I feel it, too.” He takes his hand away and lets her dress fall. “Unfortunately, though, we have arrived.” She follows his gaze and sees the elevator door standing patiently open.

Ben kisses her forehead and leads her into the apartment, dramatic and open-concept, floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the city lights. She finds glasses and plates in the cupboards and opens the wine while he heats up the food that, if she had to guess, probably came from the family friend’s private chef. 

They eat on the outdoor sofa on the terrace, and she’s feeling warm and alive from the wine in the cool night air, so she shifts herself to Ben’s lap and starts pulling his shirt over his head.

“Now what?” He lifts his arms helpfully, and she thanks him by trailing her fingers over his bare biceps and shoulders before tossing the shirt away.

“Plan A, silly,” she says, giggling. “We’re going to skinny-dip in the plunge pool.”

His face falls. “I don’t know. It might be too cold.”

She leaps up and goes over to dip a hand in. “It’s freezing!” She runs back to Ben and tries to put her cold wet fingers on his abs, but he grabs her wrist and pulls her onto his thighs.

“Sorry,” he says, chafing her hand between his until it’s dry. “I didn’t think it would be so chilly. I’ll just have to take you back to Italy and we can skinny-dip there.” He keeps hold of her hand and gently massages the muscle between her thumb and fingers.

“I like that plan.”

“I have lots of plans. Do you want to hear them?”

“Plans C to Z? Okay.”

“Once we’re teammates we can go away for long weekends when we’ve got time off. I’ll let you drive whatever vintage car my dad is keeping at the house. And you’ll let me make you drip onto those vintage leather seats.” He drops her hand and moves his fingers to her shoulders, brushing the straps of her dress. Something not-right flitters in Rey’s stomach at the thought of them being teammates, at the look in his eyes when he mentions it, but she ignores it. She doesn’t want to have that conversation right now.

“I’d prefer to bend over the hood.” She turns to face him, hiking her dress up to get a knee on the sofa on either side of his hips.

“We can do both. Then when we get to the house I want you to use one of the statues to make yourself come. I don’t think we really defiled that room as well as we could have. Think of that cool marble in your hot cunt.” He pushes her straps down and gently pulls at the neckline until her breasts are out, nipples hardening instantly in the cold.

She clicks her tongue and starts working on his belt. “Such a filthy imagination. Maybe you could also use it to pretend to be the gardener.”

“Tending delicate buds outside and in?” His hot tongue swipes at one nipple. “Doing some deflowering?”

“As long as you’re shirtless and sweating.” Rey tosses the belt aside.

“You’ve thought that one through.” He moves to the other nipple.

“I like looking at your shoulders. I don’t know how you fit them in the car.” She lifts her hands to them and lets him see her admiring their rise and slope.

“The same way you fit my cock every time. Magic.”

“Is that what it feels like?” She keeps her hands on his shoulders and grinds down on him.

“God, yes. I think about it all the time. When I’m with you, when I’m in meetings, when I’m alone.” Ben keeps licking at her, letting her nipples dry so she shivers a little, then covering them again with his warm, wet mouth.

“What else do you think about when you’re alone?” Rey’s ego swells at the thought of being the subject of his fantasies. Of dominating even his most private thoughts. Even though he’s also the subject of hers.

“I want to get a bigger vibrator. The one you have barely stretches you at all. Then I want to tie you up while I use it on you until you’re all swollen and you can’t scream any more.”

She’s going to leave a wet spot on his pants. “Then what?”

“Then I’ll keep you tied up while you take my cock. I’ll let you go when I think you’ve had everything you can take.”

“I could be into that.”

His mouth doesn’t leave her nipples, but his hands move from her thighs to her underwear, finally reaching underneath. “I can feel that. You’re soaked and I love it.”

“What else?”

“Right now I think the plan should be for you to take your dress off and kneel on the couch.” He lifts the hem where it’s bunched around her hips. “I’ll help you.”

She stands in front of him and lets him pull the dress up and her underwear down. His eyes go dark with desire and something like wonder as he turns her around and pushes her down onto the sofa. He falls to his knees on the ground behind her and slips his head between her legs, silky hair nudging her thighs apart so his tongue can reach her clit and circle it.

“Fuck, Rey, you taste so good, it’s unbelievable.”

“It’s for you, Ben. All for you.” It feels like her legs are going to buckle even though she’s kneeling. Or like she’s going to lift off the sofa and leave her body, to watch him devour her from above.

He pulls his head away, and she turns hers to watch him stand up and unzip his pants. His cock is redder than usual and glistening at the tip. He must be close. He unrolls a condom— _he must keep one in every pants pocket_ —and finally slides into her.

She always thinks the first push is the best—until the second, when he goes even deeper, and the third, when fullness succeeds stretch, and all of them after that, when it feels like he’s part of her and could stay inside her forever. She reaches for her clit, and at the first stroke it’s clear her orgasm is right there for the taking.

“Fuck, Ben, I’m close,” she whispers. Even saying it makes her cunt flutter.

“Louder,” he says, thrusting harder. “Tell me.”

“Don’t fucking stop,” she hisses.

“Say it louder.”

“I’m so close. Just like that. Don’t you dare fucking stop!” This time it’s an order.

“Say my name.” His voice is tighter, more urgent this time.

Then she’s _there_ there and pushes her finger into her clit to grab hold of it. “Fuck, Ben! That’s it. I’m there.”

It feels amazing to hear her voice, throaty and deep, echo off the terrace’s tile floor as she pulses with the aftershocks. Like instead of gathering herself inward to focus on coming, she’s setting her pleasure free into the night.

“Fuck, Rey, it’s so good, you’re so wet, it’s making me—I’m gonna come. I’m gonna—fuck.” He comes with a shout, thrusting a few more times as his voice echoes in turn, and then rests his hips against her ass, sighing.

After a few moments he pulls out, picks her up, and carries her to the bedroom.

“Do you want to know what else I fantasize about?” he whispers from his pillow to hers.

“Of course.”

“Just being normal. Like if we didn’t have to deal with all this and we were just regular college students.”

“Doing it in the library, where we’d have to be extra quiet?”

“Delivering pizzas to pay my tuition.”

“You’re such a hard worker.” Rey rolls onto his pillow and nestles against him. “We are normal, though, Ben, even though we have a weird job and you had a weird childhood. Regular people feel the same as we do.”

“How’s that?”

“Happy. Sleepy.”

“Me too.”

*

When Rey wakes up in the middle of the night, she feels empty and wanton. She rolls toward Ben and burrows down under the covers, feeling her way to where his cock is sleeping against his leg. She wraps her lips around it, just letting him fill her mouth more and more as it slowly swells. She reaches down and lazily rubs herself. Maybe he’ll wake up and fuck her, or maybe she’ll fall asleep again, cocooned in the sheets with his warm skin.

There’s a sigh from the head of the bed, and she nearly gags as his cock jerks on her tongue. Ben’s hand comes down to stroke Rey’s hair.

“I had the best dream,” he murmurs, his voice all thick and low with sleep.

“Mmhmm.” Rey’s mouth is full. A little bit of drool leaks out the corner of her lips, but she’s too drowsy and turned on to care.

“But what I woke up to was even better.”

She lets his cock go and crawls up his body, trailing her lips along his abs, his chest, his shoulders. His skin smells like sandalwood and sweat.

“I know what you can do now that you’re awake,” she whispers into his neck. She rolls away from him and pulls his cock toward her, pressing her ass into him. “I woke up so empty and I need you to fill me up.”

He does, rocking into her from behind and pulling her leg over his hip so he can reach her clit, bringing her closer and closer with his long fingers. It feels like time stretches out as they rustle the sheets and pant in the dark, and then the spell is broken when they both stiffen and moan with release.

*

When Rey wakes up the next morning and sees Ben’s eyes, watching her from his pillow with that same bright look he’d gotten while talking about being teammates, she suddenly _knows_ and feels even emptier. She’s got to tell him. Even though it’s going to disappoint him.

“Ben, I’m really sorry, but I can’t be your teammate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only two chapters left for these dummies to figure it out!
> 
> also, teammates crashing into each other? both cars failing to finish? mamma mia! *cries in ferrari* *[also cries in red bull](https://www.gpfans.com/en/articles/4445/ricciardo-red-bull-s-handling-of-verstappen-baku-crash-a-sh-show/)*


	14. Someone has to be second place

Ben sits up and props himself against the headboard, arms folded. He knows he heard right, but wishes he didn’t. “What?”

Rey sits up next to him and covers her chest with the sheet. “I can’t be your teammate. I can’t join First Order. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why?” So much for his visions of spending days together at the factory and nights at one of their apartments. It’s back to silent evenings at the pub with the Finn—or worse, with a different teammate who wants to chat.

“I know you want it to be fine. I know you think that I’ll get a good car and learn from you. I know you think we’ll be able to race and we’ll both be number one somehow.” She turns toward him, eyes seeking reassurance. “I appreciate that that’s what you want it to be. It means a lot that you respect me as a driver.”

“What’s the problem, then?” He keeps his voice low and flat so it doesn’t waver.

She purses her lips. “That’s what you want, but that’s not how it’s going to be. There just isn’t room on a team for two number-one drivers.”

It’s exactly what Armie had argued. For a second Ben feels a flash of anger at Armie, who probably shared his theory with Rose, who probably talked Rey into staying with Skywalker Racing.

Rey goes on, her voice gentle. “You said that together we’d be unstoppable, that we’d win the championship every year. But the problem is that only one driver can actually win it. Someone has to be second place.”

“It could be a tie.” That’s reaching, and they both know it. He tries to think of something else to say to stop the black hole in his stomach from opening and sucking up all his happiness.

She tries to smile. “We’re both too competitive for that. And don’t say you’ll let me win every other year or something like that. You won’t, and even if you do, I can’t rely on your letting me win. I have to rely on myself. We’d end up resenting each other over stupid stuff like who got the better race strategy or the fresher set of tires, and we’d ruin whatever this is. Where we have fun together.”

“Can you just think about it some more?” Ben’s voice does waver a little this time, and Rey puts a hand on his thigh.

“I’m sorry, Ben.” Her voice is very quiet. “I know you were excited about it. But it’s not personal. It doesn’t mean we can’t see each other. We can still meet like this. We agreed at the end of the break that we could keep doing what we were doing.”

“That’s not what I want!” He blurts it out because it’s what wells up first, then realizes he has nothing to add. What _does_ he want? He assumed she would join the team and hadn’t really thought about what would happen between them if she said no. Just that it would feel bad, which it does. 

It’s weird, though. He’s never cared this much about who was going to be his teammate before. Then again, he hadn’t wanted to spend the mid-season break with any of his previous teammates. He realizes those two weeks made him think Rey wanted him for more than sex. Like she could actually stand his personality.

“It’s not what you want,” Rey repeats. She takes her hand off his thigh and pulls the sheet off herself. “Okay.” She swings her legs off the bed and picks her underwear off the floor, then stalks out of the room.

When she comes back she has her dress on, its hem crumpled from its night on the floor. “Look, if meeting like this isn’t what you want, I’m going to go.” She comes to the side of the bed and kisses his forehead. “Just text me when you change your mind, okay? When you figure out what you actually want.”

“Let me call you a cab,” he says, trying to stall for time to figure out what to say that will magically rewind this whole conversation. She can’t leave yet. He ordered a whole basket of pastries from some trendy bakery so they could have breakfast together.

“I already called one. See you in Austin.”

*

Ben’s got his noise-canceling headphones on and a playlist cued, ready to hunker down for the flight from Mexico City to Austin and not speak to anyone, when the seat next to him bounces.

“You okay, buddy?” Armie asks, loudly enough for Ben to hear him through the headphones. Ben sighs and takes them off.

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Usually you like this one. Come on, we’ll eat some brisket, some ribs, whatever else you want. You know, Texas stuff.”

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood.” _You might as well just tell him_ , he thinks. “Listen, Armie, you were right. I talked to Rey and she doesn’t want to join First Order. She said the same thing you did, that there can’t be two number-one drivers.”

“Stop the presses, I was right for once! Can we get that on the record?”

Ben thinks he’s smiling, taking the joke, but he must not be doing it very well, because Armie immediately drops it. “You seem disappointed. It’s not like she’s leaving F1, though. I’m sure Skywalker will give her a contract and you can keep right on squabbling next year,” he continues.

“Yeah. It just seemed like a good idea. I guess I should let the team know I want them to re-sign the Finn. He’s probably the best option if we can’t get Rey.”

“I’ll add some notes to your talking points. You have a good teammate relationship with the Finn, you look forward to continuing, blah blah blah.” Armie takes out his phone, then pauses. “Are you upset about anything else?”

“No. Why?”

“You’ve never been this worried about your teammate before. Did you secretly get in a fight with the Finn?”

“No. We race, we go drinking together, he doesn’t want to talk all the time. We get along fine.”

“Did something happen with Rey?”

“No.” Ben wills his face into nonchalant stillness. “Why would anything have happened with her?”

Armie shrugs. “First you’re all excited because you suddenly want her to join the team. Now you’re in a funk because she doesn’t want to. I just didn’t think you cared that much beyond thinking she’s an annoying rookie.”

“She _is_ an annoying rookie. But she’s also talented.” The plane’s engines rev and Ben starts to feel trapped. Is Armie going to sit here and interrogate him about Rey for the whole flight? 

Ben’s overwhelmed by the sudden temptation to give in and just tell Armie everything. It would feel so good to brag that he’s the one sleeping with Rey, even if it would also feel terrible given that he fucked things up in the end. Armie would let him indulge in a little self-pity. But Ben knows Rey would rather not have the whole paddock gossiping about them.

“You _are_ a changed man. Talking about her with respect.” Armie punches him lightly on the shoulder, and Ben lets him. “Good for you, mate.”

“Yep. Good for me.”

“All right, you can put your headphones back on. I know I’m bugging you. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’ll be fine once I get some ribs. Don’t worry.”

*

Rey waits for Ben to text on Friday night, Saturday afternoon, Saturday night. Finally she picks up her phone. _I’m a modern woman and I’ll text him myself_ , she thinks.

**Rey:** are you up

It’s a bit of a fuckboi opening, but at least she’s trying to communicate. Which is more than he’s doing.

**Ben:** hey

**Rey:** i want to come over

That’s better. More direct. _Just ask for what you want._

**Ben:** i don’t think you should  
sorry  
i haven’t figured things out  
i’m really disappointed you don’t want to join the team

**Rey:** ok  
i know  
i could come over and suck you off?  
you won’t be disappointed

That’s a little underhanded. But whatever. Rey tells herself that if Ben used his stupid handsome face and even better body to try to seduce her into joining his team, she can promise a blow job to get herself laid for one night.

**Ben:** damn  
you don’t play around

**Rey:** well  
i’ll play with it a little  
it’s more fun that way

**Ben:** i know you’re making this hard on purpose

**Rey:** too easy

**Ben:** ha ha  
i mean, of course i’m already hard  
i can’t believe i’m turning this down  
but i still don’t think it’s a good idea

**Rey:** well i don’t think it’s a good idea for me to join your team  
but i thought we could still have fun

Her mood threatens to curdle. He loves it when she sucks him off. She loves it when he reciprocates. How dare he turn this down. It feels unfair that even after he told her in Mexico that he didn’t want to keep meeting, even after having this olive branch rejected, she still wants him.

**Ben:** for tonight  
is what i was going to say  
it’s not a good idea for tonight  
i will text you though ok?  
when i figure out what i want

He’s repeating her words to him. When he figures it out. Not if. Her sour feeling fades a little. Maybe they can meet up after the race and work things out. Or in Brazil at the next race. In the meantime, there’s always her vibrator to buzz her to sleep.

*

She still feels unsatisfied and on edge in the cockpit the next day, but at least the car is running well. Rey’s behind the two First Order cars, but Rose brings her in for a tire change on lap 24, nearly halfway through, and Rey thinks she can get to the end of the race without losing time making another stop. 

If Ben and the Finn don’t manage their tires well—and knowing Ben’s aggressive style, he might not—they’ll have to stop and she’ll get past them. Or she’ll be able to pass them on track if they start sliding around.

So it’s a surprise when Rose radios around lap 40.

“The team just brought Poe in.”

“So?” Rose knows Rey doesn’t care about Poe’s race unless there’s an engine problem that could affect both cars.

“He thinks he can lap faster than you.”

“Good for him. Has he caught up?”

“At his current pace, he will in about five laps.”

“Let me know when he does.”

Sure enough, Rose comes back five laps later. “He’s about one-point-five seconds behind now and looking to close the gap.”

“I’ll keep an eye out in my mirrors.”

“Rey, the team is asking you not to hold him up.”

That’s a euphemism for “get out of the way and let Poe pass.” It’s team orders. They think Poe can catch up to the Finn or Ben, but that Rey can’t. Not on her tires, which are more than 20 laps old.

Rey thought she’d be okay with sacrificing her own place for the good of the team. It’s not like letting Poe through will cost her the championship. Sitting by the pool in Italy, she’d argued with Ben that sometimes you had to suck it up and stop being selfish. 

Flying around the track now, though, sweaty and tired, she can see Ben’s point. She can’t stand the thought of giving up the place she’s worked so hard for.

“Why?” she asks stubbornly.

“Fresher tires,” Rose answers patiently. “Look, I’m just the messenger here.”

“Tell the team my tires are fine,” Rey argues. “I did a good job babying them. You’re looking at the temperatures! You know that.”

She’s starting to lose patience. She still can’t see Poe in her mirrors, but every radio message is time that she’s not completely focused on the race. All it takes is a split second of inattention for one of the corners to catch her out, and if she spins or runs wide, that’s 46 laps of work gone in an instant. She wants the team to shut up with the strategy calls and leave her alone to drive.

The radio beeps. “Rey, it’s Leia. I understand it’s a big ask, but we want you to not hold Poe up.”

“Why don’t you just say you want me to let him through?”

“All right. Please let him through.”

“That’s not what we discussed before the race.” Rey’s never mouthed off to Leia like this, but then again, they usually don’t talk in the middle of the race, when Rey’s the one strapped to the engine, hot and frustrated, and Leia’s sipping a cold drink on the pit wall.

“We’ve made changes based on how the race has developed.”

“You mean because Poe demanded new tires and you gave them to him! I’ve been doing exactly what you asked, which is to manage my tires.”

“You and Poe have been on different strategies from the start.”

“He asks for tires, he gets new tires! He asks for upgrades ahead of schedule, he gets the fucking upgrades! Anything to gain an advantage without having to actually race me on the fucking track!” Rey’s yelling now. Nobody on the team yells at Leia, much less over an open radio channel that everyone can hear. Rey’s blatant disrespect is probably playing on the TV broadcast right now.

“God, you sound just like Ben when I tried to give him team orders. I’m putting Rose back on now. We’ll discuss this after the race.”

Rose comes back, sounding worried. “Okay, while that was happening, Poe got within one second. He’s lapping faster but not that much faster.”

“He’s not getting past me.”

“Copy that,” Rose says mildly, and— _fucking finally_ —leaves her alone.

Rey realizes, belatedly, that she’s taken a big gamble. If she really doesn’t want to let Poe pass, she’s going to have to defend hard, then pull away to try to pressure the First Order cars so that their tires degrade and they have to make a pit stop. All while keeping her own tires alive for the eight laps left in the race. If she’s going to disobey team orders, she better come back with a good race result. 

Even if she does, she might get fired anyway. Leia could find a hundred drivers who would drive the car and not mouth off. Some of them are probably watching Rey’s tantrum and emailing right now to offer their services.

Suddenly she glimpses Poe’s front wing in her mirrors. There’s no time to think about how much trouble she’s in. _The track lies before you and you must drive_ , as Luke’s tapes say. She’s got to drive like her career depends on it.

More helpfully, Rose says her dad says _the best defense is a good offense_ , so Rey picks up the pace just enough to make Poe wonder why he’s not catching up so quickly anymore and leads him around for the rest of the lap. On the next lap, she picks it up even more, probably enough to make the First Order engineers take notice.

Rose picks up on what Rey’s doing. “Little bit more at the end of this lap. First Order is getting the tires out.” Which means that Rey’s pushed them to the edge, and either the Finn or Ben has radioed in to say they want fresh tires. She just has to tip them over and ensure they actually make the pit stop.

Five laps to go. Poe’s making a run at her and pops up in her mirrors again. Luckily, one of the First Order cars has made a stop, and she sweeps by them on the track while they’re in the pit lane for the tire change. She just has to hold them off and she’ll be on the podium.

*

Poe catches up to her as she’s heading from the podium back to the garage.

“Hey, teammate,” he says, but his tone is way less friendly than usual. “What the fuck?”

She stops and whirls to face him, hands on hips. “What the fuck is that, as they say in Texas, I whupped you on track.”

“And disobeyed team orders.” He takes the same stance, challenging her.

“Remember the advice you gave me in Melbourne? When I was still a fresh-faced rookie you thought you could beat with your eyes closed?”

“I give a lot of good advice. Refresh my memory.”

“You said to stop being nice all the time. So this is me not being nice. Get used to it.”

To her surprise, Poe shakes his head and laughs ruefully. “All right. I respect that.”

“Are you joking?”

“No, I mean it. I like kidding around with you, but you’re right, you don’t have to humor me all the time. You’re standing up for yourself. Soon you won’t be a rookie anymore.”

“I wasn’t going to be that fresh-faced newbie forever.”

“I, on the other hand, am still as fresh-faced as the first day I set foot on a go-kart track.” He pushes his hair back and gestures to his jawline, working his angles until she has to laugh. Then he holds out a hand. “Teammates?”

“I’m not shaking. We’re not agreeing I can be mean to you. I’m telling you I’m _going_ to be, because I want to win. If I was a guy I’d punch you in the dick. Fair warning.”

“Tsk,” he scoffs. “You’re turning into the second coming of Solo.”

*

When Leia summons Rey to the makeshift office in the garage, Rey’s ready. _The best defense is a good offense_.

Before Leia can say anything, Rey takes a seat and looks her in the eye. “I want to talk about my future with the team.”

Leia’s caught off guard. “Don’t you think we should talk about the very recent past?”

Rey presses on. “I had a great drive today, and I’ve had a great season. I beat Poe today even though he had fresher tires and the better strategy.”

“And you want me to offer you a contract because you disobeyed team orders? Because you think you can run the team better than I can?”

“No. I’ve proven my loyalty to the team. You know I could still follow Ben to First Order, but I don’t want to. I want to drive for you.” Leia doesn’t need to know that she’s already turned First Order down. Rey wants to use Ben’s offer for leverage.

“I see. You want to drive for me, and you also think I’ll do anything to keep from losing another driver to First Order.” Leia sighs. “You may be right. Go on.”

“I’ve proven that I can perform no matter what. That I can deliver on track, and I don’t have to waste your time with secret behind-the-scenes meetings to win.”

“What are you asking for?”

Rey takes a deep breath. Asking for what she wants has gotten easier over the years, but it doesn’t always feel that way. “I want to be the number-one driver next year, and I want my contract to say so.” 

It’s another big gamble. The worst that could happen is that Leia declines to offer her a contract and Rey has to drive for a team with a slower car. Or gets labeled as a troublemaker and not offered another seat. But being number one is what Rey wants, and if she doesn’t ask for it, she’ll find herself as the number-two driver to Poe again next year.

“Anything else?”

Inspiration strikes. “I want Rose to get a raise. I couldn’t have done any of this without her.”

Leia nods. “All right. I’ll talk to your manager and see if we can work something out by the time we get to São Paulo.”

“Good. Thank you. See you at the team debrief.” Rey walks out of the office, closes the door firmly, and leans against it, taking deep breaths. Her hands are shaking. _But you fucking did it_ , she tells herself. _You asked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it makes me so sad when the real-life drivers get team orders and accept them and you can tell their whole career is a big sigh of resignation. ben wouldn't stand for that! maybe rey learned something from him after all?


	15. Talking points

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up, bitches, and let's pedal-to-the-metal it to the finish line of this horny adventure!

São Paulo is wet, and not in a fun way. Rey and Rose huddle under a giant umbrella with the Skywalker logo for their track walk as the rain patters down, soaking the tops of their sneakers. They’re both so hunched over, trying to keep their windbreakers pulled up, that they don’t notice the First Order group until they hear Armie’s voice telling someone to smile. It’s Ben, of course, making a face Rey’s only seen on wet cats as he tries to smooth his hair over his ears.

“Armie!” Rose calls. Rey wonders if she can cinch her hood so tightly that Ben won’t be able to see her face.

“Rose!” Armie’s delighted. Ben frowns. “Just doing some shots for the team social while Ben has a look at the track. Our social media person has a cold, so I told her I’d come out in the rain. Is that Rey? What are you guys doing?” _Dammit._

“Quick track walk,” Rose says. “The forecast is still iffy for Sunday, so I want to see if the water’s puddling anywhere.”

“Babe, are you shivering? Your feet are soaked. Here, take my jacket.” Armie starts struggling to hold his umbrella and phone in one hand while taking off his own windbreaker. “Ben, why don’t you offer Rey your jacket, like a gentleman?”

“No!” Rey practically shouts. “It’s fine. We’re almost done. Besides, your shots are for social, not a wet T-shirt contest.”

Armie and Rose give her a laugh. Ben just stares, jaw twitching.

“If you’re sure,” Armie says. “See you tonight?”

“I’ll text you when I’m done.” Rose turns to Rey and Ben. “Armie’s taking me out to celebrate my new contract.”

“What contract?” Ben finally speaks up.

“I mean, Rey should tell you the whole story. But she got me a raise as a condition of her re-signing with the team. And, you know, made herself the number-one driver.”

Ben’s eyes flick to Rey’s face with interest, burning her skin, then he pulls them away. Rey had wanted to tell him the whole story. She almost texted him before calling her parents after she signed the new contract, then decided she’d tell him in person so she could watch his eyes light up. He’d congratulate her, praise her, tell her she deserved it. Maybe even tell her that he was glad she hadn’t joined First Order because this was a better deal. That he was happy she got what she wanted.

But she’s already reached out once, and he hasn’t texted her yet to say he’s changed his mind. If she won’t be his teammate, apparently, he still doesn’t want her to be anything to him.

*

“I’m still getting a lot of vibration in fifth gear,” Ben shouts into the radio after sixty-plus tooth-rattling laps around the track in São Paulo with the rain pelting down. “Is anyone actually looking at the data?”

“Sorry!” His engineer sounds half-panicked now. “We are looking.”

“It feels like my balls are going to get shaken off. Is the Finn getting anything like this?” He’s exaggerating a little, but his anger’s been thrumming away all afternoon, and it feels good to let it flare up.

“I’ll check.” Thirty seconds pass, then his engineer comes back. “The Finn is not getting the vibration and he, ah, said he had a message for you.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear it,” Ben says sarcastically.

“The message is—and I’m just reading this—Don’t bother me. Are you really so upset about a little shaking?”

Is he? Ben thinks back to this morning, when the water temperature wasn’t quite right in the shower, when his coffee tasted extra-bitter, when his right calf was tighter than he would have liked, when it took him five tries to get his helmet jammed on his head without his hood bunching up underneath and he threw it across his dressing room. When, worst of all, he woke up in an empty bed to a silent phone— _what did you expect, you said you were going to text her, dummy_ —and wanted to cry. 

The problem isn’t the shower or the helmet or the car or the team. It’s him. It’s that he feels bad. He misses Rey.

“Copy that,” he says into the radio in a calmer voice. “Thanks for checking.”

When Rey turned down First Order, he thought she was turning him down, too. That she didn’t want anything from him besides a quick fuck in a hotel room, which Ben knows won’t satisfy him anymore. Why would it, when they could have so much more?

But maybe he didn’t have to take it so personally. Clearly she got a far better contract this way, and he feels a weird glimmer of pride that she hardballed her way to being the number-one driver for the Skywalker team. 

She didn’t say they had to be nothing to each other. Maybe they can negotiate something between being teammates and being each other’s dirty little secret. Something that works for both of them.

He decides he’ll tell her how he feels in person after the race—it’s not something he can say in a text. Just admit he likes her, could even love her, and still wants to be with her. He’s running in second and she’s third, so they’ll both be on the podium and he can talk to her when they go to get their trophies. Easy.

Suddenly there’s a sickening, slippery noise, and Ben’s aquaplaning off the track. He bumps the barriers—gently, he hopes—and comes to a stop in the gravel.

“Fuck,” he says to his engineer. _Wow, so eloquent_. “Sorry. I just lost it.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m a fucking idiot. But fine. Can you change the front wing if I bring it in?”

“Negative. We’re seeing floor damage, too.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “I’m going to shut it off.”

Fuck! There goes P2. He won’t be able to talk to Rey on the podium after all.

*

“There may be debris after turn 12. Watch out.”

“What happened? I can’t see anything in this fucking rain,” Rey says testily, then reminds herself to take a deep breath. Rose is just trying to help.

“Ben slid off and hit the barrier. Safety car is coming out.”

Rey sees his car sitting motionless in the runoff area, but even at safety-car speed, she’s going too fast to tell whether he’s gotten out of it. It feels like the bottom of her stomach has dropped out.

“Is he—”

“The medical car is not coming out.” They only send it out if the race car’s sensors show that it hit the barriers hard. Which means Ben isn’t hurt. The safety car is just to give the marshals time to get Ben’s car out of the way.

“Copy that,” Rey croaks, and as soon as she hears the relief in her own voice, everything clicks.

Of course Rose was right. Rey does like Ben. Maybe she even loves him. And it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t know exactly what she wants or if he hasn’t texted yet, she thinks. She should tell him and they’ll figure it out from there.

*

Ben’s moment of distraction in Brazil means he didn’t finish the race and doesn’t quite have the season locked up yet. But he’s far enough ahead in the points that as long as he finishes fifth or better in Abu Dhabi, he’ll come first in the drivers’ championship.

Rey’s not disappointed; she didn’t really think she had a shot at the championship in her rookie year. What she does promise herself as she rolls into the formation lap one last time for the season is that this will be the race she finally passes Ben on track.

Rose knows this is her goal, and they’ve worked out a strategy for Rey to stick with Ben, follow him into the pits, and chase him down toward the finish. They don’t have to save the engine for another race, so Rose has promised to turn the power all the way up. Now all Rey has to do is execute—and remember all five of Rose’s backup strategies.

They get lucky with an early safety car, which keeps Ben from opening up too much of a lead out in front, and after the restart Rey, in second place, stays right on his rear wing, letting him see her in his mirrors. She follows him in for a pit stop with 15 laps to go, getting Rose to alert the Skywalker crew at the last second, and is extra careful to keep clear of him in the tunnel at the pit exit.

She gets on the radio after a lap. “Tires are good,” she tells Rose.

“Ben is one point eight seconds ahead of you. Let’s start pushing and close the gap.”

Rey’s going to have to manage this carefully. Once she gets close enough to pass Ben, she’ll need to get it done quickly, because there aren’t many spots to overtake on this track. She can’t drive too aggressively or the tires will wear out, and then she won’t be able to defend after she passes Ben.

She puts in a few solid laps, willing herself to focus, and gets the car within half a second of Ben. For an instant it looks like he’s left a space going into turn 9, but she forces herself to hold off. She’d have to brake too hard to get the move made, taking too much grip out of her tires. Maybe Luke’s advice about not being tempted by your opponents actually was useful.

“That’s my girl,” Rose says. “Do you need me to talk?”

“No, I’ve got this.”

“Good. Get it done.” Rose has that steely, determined tone she always slips into during races. It makes Rey feel like they’re a pair of lionesses on the prowl, even though she’s the only one in the car actually doing the hunting.

Rey stays calm, in control, through the kinks at the end of the lap, knowing that if she just waits for the hairpin at turn 7 on the next lap, she can get a good exit and use her overtake mode to blast past Ben on the straight before turn 8.

The hairpin might be the smoothest corner she’s ever taken in a race car. It feels like she’s driving on rails, gliding past the apex. When she pushes the throttle to get out of the turn, she’s so focused that it’s like she’s both riding in the cockpit and watching herself from above.

Ben sees her coming, but can’t do anything about it. She waits a moment in the slipstream from his car, then presses the button to engage overtake mode, puts her foot down, and darts out. There’s a second where they’re side by side, each trusting the other to steer straight ahead. Then she sails past and pulls in front of him, getting back on the racing line before she has to start braking for the next turn.

“Nice work,” Rose affirms once Rey is on the next straightaway.

“He’ll come back at me. How much is left?”

“Six laps.”

Rey breathes deeply and settles back into her driving. _I can do this. Six laps is nothing._

He stays close behind for the rest of that lap, and when they come back to the same straight on the next lap he pulls the same move, trying to dart out and floor it. He nearly makes it past her. But he leaves the braking too late and can’t get back on the racing line, and she slips through on the inside of the turn, getting away cleanly. 

She’s heard of more experienced drivers tapping wheels with rookies who try to pass, bumping them out of the way and claiming that it was a racing incident. She’s seen it happen in the “Top 10 Ben Solo On-Track Tantrums” video. It’s a mark of Ben’s respect for her that he concedes his move didn’t work and keeps chasing her.

Five laps. He backs off for three of them, letting the distance between them grow so his engine isn’t sucking in the hot air from her exhaust. Then he puts in a hugely fast time on the first section of the penultimate lap. His engine has cooled off and he’s ready to fight back again.

Rose sees it and gives Rey a heads up. “Ben’s pushing. Engine will be in mode 12 to the end,” she says briskly. Maximum power. “Leave it all on the track.”

“Understood.”

_I can do this. I can do this. I can and I will._ She loosens her grip on the steering wheel to remind herself to relax. Just two more laps like any of the others.

Ben uses the rest of the lap to keep eating away at her lead, putting himself in range to pass, exactly like she’d reeled him in earlier.

“Last lap,” Rose says calmly as Rey flies past her spot on the pit wall. “Crush him.”

Rey and Ben wind through the series of turns that start the lap, getting closer as she brakes for turns and farther apart as she accelerates out of them. But this time, Ben doesn’t try to swing out of the hairpin at turn 7. He stays behind her on the straight and even into turn 8. Where else could he pass?

Maybe she see his wheels twitch toward the inside of turn 9, or maybe she just guesses that he’s going to fall back on being aggressive, pushing where no one else will. Either way, her instinct fires and she plants her car in his path, blocking him. He has to back off.

That’s enough. The rest of the lap is too tight for him to overtake her easily. Rey pushes the pace, making sure she stays comfortably ahead, but she’s pretty sure she’s got him. She swoops through the last set of turns and lets out a yell when she crosses the line.

“Checkered flag,” Rose yells back. “P1! You got him!”

*

All the nerves Rey felt before the race come roaring back when she pulls up in front of the podium and switches the car off. Her heart pounds even faster when Ben pulls up next to her and waves, then hops out to go high-five his team, flexing for the cameras and ruffling Armie’s hair. Maybe she should have practiced what she was going to say to him.

Or not. The point of Ben is that she can say anything she wants to him—her silliest fantasy, her snarkiest comebacks, her wildest ambitions—and trust that he’ll accept it. He doesn’t have to like all of it, but he doesn’t judge her for having those things inside her in the first place. Whatever she says will be fine.

She should probably get out of the car, though. They’re waiting to interview her before they hand out the trophies, and Rose has come over to see if she needs help unbuckling.

“Are you just taking a minute or do you need a hand?” Rose peers into the cockpit. Rey waves her off and pulls herself out.

“Just thinking.” Rey reaches for her helmet, then thinks better of it, leaving it on so the cameras can’t pick up what she says next. “Rose, you were right. I do like Ben and I’m going to tell him when we get to the cooldown room.”

Rose grins. “Of course I was right! But sure, have a gold star for figuring it out on your own.”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“You just crushed him on track. He’s probably planning your wedding.” Rose throws an arm around Rey’s shoulders and squeezes reassuringly. “I’m going to go congratulate my boyfriend. I’ll see you on the podium.”

* 

Up in the cooldown room, Ben mops his face with a towel, high-fives the Finn, and goes to grab a water bottle at the same time as Rey. Very smooth, the old going-up-to-the-table-at-the-same-time move.

“Congratulations,” he says, sticking his hand out for her to shake. “That was a great race. I mean it.” This is just the intro. He’s not going to wing it like when he asked her to join First Order. 

He thought of several talking points in his dressing room earlier this evening. How she’s a formidable opponent who makes him feel alive not just on the track, but whenever he’s with her. How their trip made him wish the break could last forever. How after that, she made hotel rooms feel like home. How she asks for what she wants and it makes him want to give it to her if he can. How it makes him feel like he can ask for anything, too.

She shakes his hand, and the current zings through him, like it does every time they touch. “Thanks. I really do like racing against you. I always have to do my best.”

“Me too. Rey, I think you’re a really good driver, and that’s why I asked you to join First Order.”

She frowns. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“Oh.” He ducks his head, pretending to be focused on opening the water bottle.

She keeps talking. “I have to tell you something. I don’t want to join your team, but I still want to be with you. I think you’re a really good driver, but I also think you’re good. As a person.”

He glances up from the bottle and sees that she’s looking at him intently. There’s still that little line between her eyes, but it seems more like determination than displeasure.

She has more to say. “I really like you. I didn’t at first, because I thought you didn’t respect me, but you do. Probably more than anyone else on the grid. So now I like you and I want you to know.”

Of course now the little plastic cap gives way. He’s gripping the bottle so tightly that half the water spurts out onto his chest and hands. Rey hands him a towel from the stack on the table and looks at him expectantly. Oh, right. Talking points.

“I was disappointed when you didn’t want to join First Order, but I shouldn’t have taken it so personally. I was proud that you got what you wanted in your contract with Skywalker, and happy for you, and I think we can figure out a way to be together—”

“Really? You want to be together?” Rey interrupts. Her smile, to his eyes, is brighter than the fireworks they set off after the race. “Ben, I would love that, I—”

Okay, fuck the talking points. He cuts her off mid-sentence by pressing his mouth to hers, sighing against her softness. He tastes the sweat on her lips and smells her damp hair and feels his stomach untwist when she grabs the back of his neck to pull him tighter. He tosses the bottle aside, flinging the rest of the water across the room, and puts his arms around her.

“Fuck’s sake,” the Finn mutters, moving in front of the TV camera.

*

“And as the champagne comes out, the season draws to a close. Twenty-one races, wrapping up here in Abu Dhabi as the fireworks continue over Yas Marina Circuit. What a season it has been! Hasn’t it, Martin?”

“It has, Crofty. Some mighty driving from the rookie who came home first today.”

“Do you think she can challenge Ben Solo for the championship next year?”

“I do. She’s shown a lot of talent and confidence, and those two things will take any young driver far.”

“There was a bit of bad blood between those two at the start of the season, but it seems like they both relish the competition now. That’s what we like to see. Big smiles from all the drivers as they wave to the crowd. But hang on—what’s this—Rey is putting down her trophy—AND THEY KISS, MARTIN! If you are not watching your screen, now is the time to tune back in! Rey has leapt into Ben Solo’s arms and they are giving each other—well, it’s what my mother might have called canoodling! Apologies, folks, as this family show has now gotten a little bit racier. We’ve never seen anything like this!”

“We certainly have not. Wonderful to see the enthusiasm, though.”

“And we’re now getting a shot of the Skywalker principal, Leia, who is Ben’s mother, and his uncle Luke, who is their technical advisor. Luke seems to be laughing, but is Leia crying?”

“In all my years in motorsport, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Leia get so emotional. Usually quite tough, even when her son was also her driver.”

“She still has her headset on. Could we maybe get hold of her? I’d quite like to know what’s going through her head at the moment. Ah...well, our production crew says she’s told them no comment and also, quote, I’m so happy. There you have it. Meanwhile, back on the podium, goodness me, it seems they’re still going. They’re in their own little world. We’ve seen drivers getting into altercations after races, but never something like this.”

“Each season has its own little dramas, but this is taking us into what you might call rom-com territory.”

“And one of the officials has tapped them on the shoulder to get them to move along. I have to say, both of these drivers look incandescent with happiness as Ben carries Rey off the podium. Now Rose, who is Rey’s race engineer, comes back out to get the trophies they left behind. The Finn, of course, is long gone. I’d think by now he’s already left the circuit in his private jet.”

“I’m not sure. He may have his yacht here this weekend.”

“In any case! An unforgettable finish to an unforgettable race at the end of a season to remember. What do you think this means for next year?”

“Some more good racing, I hope. There’s a lot of potential when the drivers know each other on a personal level and trust each other. It means you can push each other that much closer to the limit.”

“That sounds very promising indeed! Well, we will certainly be here to find out what happens, and we hope you’ll tune in too. Until next time, when Rey and Ben face off again at the start of another season in Melbourne. From our commentary box here in Abu Dhabi, it’s been a pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pull back, roll credits! The girl did, indeed, get it.
> 
> I will never not laugh when I hear [THEY TOUCHED, MARTIN](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WVc8GFTcg4)! (Also, that's right, I just tossed the real-life commentators riiiiiiight into the ending of this ridiculous fic.)
> 
> And if you made it all the way here, thank you for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, and/or accidentally clicking on this! Like a champion driver I am #blessed.


End file.
